Amelia and the Electric Frog
by April in Paris
Summary: In which our protagonist and her beloved travel to Regency England in an attempt to recapture the electricity of their first meeting. However, when a mysterious stranger - or two - interferes, it seems that lightning can't be caught twice. AU - COOPMELIA #5
1. Chapter 1

**In which our protagonist and her beloved travel to Regency England in an attempt to recapture the electricity of their first meeting. However, when a mysterious stranger - or two - interferes, it seems that lightning can't be caught twice.**

* * *

 **AMELIA AND THE ELECTRIC FROG**

 **CHAPTER ONE**

* * *

 _It's getting hot in here, so hot, so take off all your clothes  
_ _I am, getting so hot, I wanna take my clothes off  
_ _It's getting hot in here, so hot, so take off all your clothes  
_ _I am, getting so hot, I wanna take my clothes off_

"What is _that_?" Cooper's shoulder started next to her on the sofa.

Amelia turned with a laugh. "I think it's funny. Look, they're doing the whole song, like a Regency music video."

Her husband shook his head. "What an odd movie you picked."

"I loved it." Amelia smiled, even as she reached for the remote to turn the volume down as the credits of _Austenland_ continued. "It's about an attempt at time travel, you should appreciate that."

"A theme vacation is _not_ time travel. I do not get transported to 17th-century France every time I visit Cinderella's castle at Disneyland. And no one in this movie really thought they were time traveling."

"Then we should travel to Regency England for them," Amelia said firmly.

"What?" Cooper raised his eyebrow. "Oh, was this your plan all along? I should have guessed it."

"Mmmm," Amelia pursed her lips, "I wouldn't call it a plan, per se, but it crossed my mind. Come on, I haven't been anywhere since I got pregnant with Errol, and I miss it. You said you'd teach me how to plot the course in the time machine. I know you think our last joint trip was too dangerous -"

"Because you insisted on breaking the law by going to a speakeasy."

"- but there's nothing dangerous about a weekend at an English estate and maybe a ball, if we're lucky," Amelia finished.

Cooper sighed. "Do you really want your first trip back to be so frivolous? What happened to all your plans to see the great events of history? From a safe distance, of course."

"Who said it's frivolous? There's a whole legion of Jane Austen fans that would disagree with you. Something that spawned that much love and loyalty and -" she gestured toward the television "- laughter is surely just as important as any war."

When Cooper didn't immediately answer, Amelia continued, "One could argue the early 19th century was the beginning of a golden age of science with new understandings of elements and medicine and mechanics. We could try to meet a famous scientist, too. Weren't they all the rage, scientists who came to house parties and made the legs on frogs move with rudimentary electricity?"

"Please, Amelia, that's just early battery technology. I built my first battery when I was still in diapers. I don't need to get all dressed up like Mr. Darcy to see a crude one work."

"Hoooo," Amelia breathed out and turned slightly to run her hand up along his strong bicep. "You dressed up like Mr. Darcy . . ."

"How about we compromise, and I dress up like Mr. Darcy here and then you take off all my clothes in the privacy of our current time . . ." Cooper's face leaned in tantalizingly close to hers.

"Well, it _is_ getting awfully hot in here . . ."

No sooner had their lips touched then there was cry from Amelia's arms. They stopped and looked down at their previously sleeping son. In his sleep, with his chubby cheeks and random tufts of brown hair, he looked so innocent. But his cheeks were too flushed with fever today, and the large amount of drool on Amelia's sweater had her wondering if he was starting to teethe.

"Unfortunately, the only heat in here seems to be from Errol's fever," Amelia mumbled, even as she picked the unhappy and feverish baby up to rest on her shoulder, patting his bottom and shushing in his ear.

* * *

Cooper looked up when she walked into the bedroom. "That took a while."

Amelia shook her head and pulled down the blankets on her side of the bed before getting in. "Teething is making him very fussy. I don't know what to do. Let him cry himself to sleep or keep rocking him?"

Cooper reached for her hand and squeezed it. "I'm sure that whatever we're doing is the right thing."

"I know." Amelia nodded as she settled back again the headboard. "It's just there's a lot to do right now, and it's my first semester back at school. I could really use some nights of uninterrupted sleep. Why did he have to start teething right after he started sleeping for six hours straight? It was just a tease, and it's worse now that it's gone again."

"Here," Cooper reached for the beside lamp, turning it off, "I'll stop reading so you have the dark to go to sleep."

"Thank you." Amelia smiled, lowering herself down under the blankets next to Cooper. He pulled her close and she curled up with her head on his chest. But her mind was racing, thinking of the things she needed to do for her biology report, and she couldn't settle.

"Do you want to tell me a story?" Cooper murmured. Her restless shifting must have been more evident than she thought.

"I don't have a story," Amelia admitted.

"What are you reading, then?"

"Mostly about cells." She heard Cooper give a grunt of amusement. "Okay, I'm reading _Longbourn_. It's a retelling of _Pride and Prejudice_ told from the servants' prospective. You're so lucky to have these new books inspired by Jane Austen now with such fresh ideas."

"No," Cooper said firmly.

"No what?" Amelia asked, lifting her head off his chest, furrowing her brow.

"When we go to Regency England we are most certainly not going as the servants. I don't care if it makes me a snob, but I'm not emptying a chamber pot."

Too surprised to point out he accepted the need to change Errol's diapers without complaint, Amelia pounced upon something else. " _When_? When! Does that mean we're going?"

"I meant _if_."

"But you said when."

Cooper sighed. "I'll admit I've given it some thought." He paused. "Of the heaving bosom variety."

Amelia rolled off his chest with a laugh. "Heaving bosoms? Mine, I hope."

"Of course." He rolled to look down at her. "It could be fun. It's probably why all those Darcy-fellows had those crotch flaps on their trousers."

"Crotch flaps?" Amelia laughed even harder.

Cooper pulled her in close and pressed himself against her. "Easy access," he hissed softly in her ear before wrapping him tongue around her earlobe.

"Oh, Cooper," Amelia moaned. "I'm afraid my bosom isn't exactly heaving in this nightgown."

"Mmmm," Cooper murmured into the kisses down her neck. "I love your bosoms in whatever they're wearing. Believe me, nothing in my crotch is flapping at this moment." He lowered his body very close to hers, so she could feel exactly how unflappable he was. "But I like your breasts best wearing nothing at all."

Just has he was reaching down to help pull her nightgown up, the monitor exploded with the sounds of crying.

"Nooo," Cooper rolled off of her, rubbing his palm down his face.

"I'm sorry," Amelia whispered. "Maybe I should have rocked him longer." She started to get up when Cooper's arm reached over to stop her.

"You stay and try to sleep. I'll go."

Amelia watched him slowly leave the bedroom, his silhouette dark but his shoulders clearly defeated. She frowned. It had been too long; Errol's teething had disrupted several facets of their lives, and she was worried this one was starting to become a problem.

She heard Cooper say over the monitor, between his hushing noises, even as the crying quieted some, "I love you, son, but you're killing me."

No, it was _definitely_ a problem. And even the soft sounds of Cooper singing his favorite lullaby wafting over the baby monitor couldn't lull her to sleep.

"Fast clock, slow clock,  
Time runs by so fast.  
Big star, bright star,  
The universe is so vast."

* * *

Amelia completed the last of her organic chemistry exercises and looked over at Cooper, absorbed in something on his computer. She smiled at him without his knowledge. It was a nice evening despite the work she had to do, filled with the full but unobtrusive silence she had always enjoyed with Cooper. Then, her eyes shifted to her son, lolling on his blanket, his favorite toy in one hand and using the other to keep his teething ring in his mouth. The new teething rings she's bought out of desperation - she'd ordered every one of the top ten rated teething rings and toys on Amazon - could be refrigerated, and their cold surfaces had proved to be the solution they needed.

Flicking her eyes back to her handsome husband, she sighed as she rested her chin on her palm at the island.

"That was a deep sigh," Cooper said, his eyes not leaving his computer screen. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Just the opposite. I was thinking about how I'm enjoying organic chemistry more than I thought I would and how pleased I am that Errol is calm and I was daydreaming about you."

"Daydreaming about me?" Cooper stopped typing and turned his chair.

Smiling, Amelia got off her stool to move close to him, running her fingertips through his dark hair. "How handsome you are."

"I am handsome, aren't I? And parts of me are a joy to behold," Cooper responded, reaching for Amelia, wrapping his arms about her waist and pulling her closer.

"Still interested in dressing up like Mr. Darcy?" Amelia cooed.

"Mmmmm, maybe. Tell me what you had in mind." His blue eyes looked up at her.

"Just you all dressed up like Mr. Darcy." Amelia took a deep breath. "And then I can set my cap at you before all those other ladies and we can flirt and dance and it will all be harmless fun."

"I'm confused." Cooper's eyebrows dipped. "Why would you have to set your cap at me if you're my wife?"

Amelia shrugged. "No one will know that, right? We can pretend not to be married."

Cooper pulled back, the wheels of his chair rolling in the process. "Why do I get the feeling we're not talking about the same thing? Since there would be no one else in our bedroom to either know or not know if you're my wife, I can only extrapolate that you're talking about time travel again."

"You love to time travel," Amelia protested.

"I do. And I love to time travel with you. I have no objections to planning a trip. But I fail to see the appeal of this particular plan. Especially now that you say you want to pretend not to be married. Why?"

"It would be part of the fun, pretending we were just starting to fall in love, that we hadn't a care in the world," Amelia said softly.

"Oh." Cooper looked over at their son, still content on his blanket with his toy and his teething ring. "I don't suppose just a quiet weekend somewhere would be as exciting, would it?"

"It can still be a quiet weekend. We'll stay somewhere, talk over tea without distractions, take long walks in the famous English countryside. You know, woo each other." She tried to keep the hope out of her voice, she tried to sound neutral. She had been building this fantasy in her mind for a couple of weeks now, even as she chided herself for doing that exact thing.

"We already wooed each other once," Cooper said sharply, turning back to his computer, although Amelia noticed he didn't put his hands back on the keyboard.

"And I loved it!" Amelia put her hands out, on his shoulder. "Cooper, I love you. I'm not trying to change anything or replace anything. I don't want that! I just want to recapture it. I know I've been busy with school and I know Errol's teething has disrupted our . . . schedule, and I just thought . . . it might be fun. Isn't that one of the beauties of time travel? We can live it all over again."

He turned to look at her. "But we wouldn't be living it all over again. We'd be doing something completely different, in Regency England, not Kansas."

"Only because we can't cross our own timelines. You told me that."

Cooper grunted and nodded in agreement. " _If_ \- and it's a very big if - I agree to this, why we would be traveling together if we're not married? The logistics just don't work, not the least because we both have American accents."

"We could be cousins or something."

"Cousins!" Cooper's head reared back and his lip curled. "Ugh. No, absolutely not."

"It was common at the time, Cooper. I even knew a couple of cousins that got married," Amelia explained.

"Thank goodness that's gone out of fashion with superior gene sequencing and genetic research."

"What about second cousins or something like that? Would that be distant enough for you?"

He tilted his head. "Maybe. But, still, why would we be traveling together?"

"Well," Amelia pursed her lips, "maybe all my family died and you're my only living relative. Technically, we'd have to be related to be traveling together unmarried without a chaperone, anyway. And you're taking me to England to escape the tragedy. _Pride and Prejudice_ was published not long before the War of 1812, for example."

Another grunt from Cooper. "I should have known better than challenge your imagination." But then he gave her a little smile.

"We don't have to decide today. Just think about it." She stepped close and ran her hand down his strong shoulder. "Think about this: I could be Amelia Farrow again, innocent and sheltered, and you could be Cooper Shelton again -"

"I still _am_ Cooper Shelton," he said, but he reached for her, putting his hand on her hip.

"- worldly but emotionally distant and mysterious. Just like Mr. Darcy. Just like when we first met."

"That's not the way I remember it. You weren't so innocent, little Miss Farrow, with your bathtub." He smiled and touched the buttons on her sweater with his other hand. "And I wasn't emotionally distant; if I were, you wouldn't be here having this conversation with me right now."

"No, you're right. You weren't emotionally distant. But you tried to be. I'm sorry to inform you that is something you failed miserably at."

"It never felt like failure." He stood and reached for her, his head tilting down. "Someone is quiet, the night is young," he whispered, closing his eyes and he leaned in for the kiss that Amelia was awaiting -

An angry cry broke them apart, and Amelia sighed. She looked over at her son as he stretched and tried to reach the teething ring that he'd apparently thrown just outside of his grasp. "It's okay, Errol, I'll get it," she said, walking over and gathering her son in her arms while also picking up the ring. "No wonder you threw it away, it's gotten warm. Let me get you another one from the freezer."

Balancing her quieting son on her hip, Amelia saw Cooper shake his head before he sat back down at his computer, the magic moment lost.

* * *

The oven timer went off, and Amelia stood, stretching and rubbing her forehead. This biology test was going to be brutal. It's not that she didn't feel confident in how well she understood the material, it was just the sheer quantity of it. Regardless, there was still dinner to be eaten. Nothing fancy, as she didn't have the time, but at least the casserole would be filling.

"What's for dinner?" she heard Cooper sing-song to their son, who he holding in his spot. "It smells delicious!"

"You know it's just ham and shredded potatoes casserole," Amelia said, turning off the timer and opening the oven door. She hated using prepackaged and precooked potatoes like this, but she didn't have time to peel and boil and shred herself.

"But it still smells delicious," Cooper protested as Amelia heard his voice approaching. "You didn't have to cook. We could have just ordered pizza."

"No, we couldn't," Amelia said, setting the hot casserole on the top of the stove to shut the oven door. "You know how unhealthy all that food is." Not that this is much better, she thought bitterly. Why was every modern convenience so unhealthy?

"Hey! I'm just trying to lighten your load."

Amelia turned around and looked at him standing by the island, holding Errol. Had she snapped? Yes, she supposed she had. "I'm sorry. I've just got a lot on my plate." She picked back up the casserole, holding its tiny handles with the hand towel, and turned toward the island, fighting away a frown when she when saw that she'd forgotten to set the table. Then Cooper stepped close with a glass, pressing it against the lever of the ice machine with one hand while he held Errol with the other.

Turning sideways, Amelia tried to squeeze in between Cooper's back and the sink. Just then Cooper shifted Errol and his hip, and Amelia pulled back to keep the baby's exposed calf from touching the hot dish. The action was too quick or too jarring and her hand lost its grip on the hot handle, the towel sliding out of place and she yelled just as the casserole dish went flying out of her hands. Quickly, she lurched forward to grab it without thinking, but then she had to grab the back of Cooper's shirt, pulling on it, fighting to keep herself upright so she didn't fall face-first into the hot casserole dish as it shattered on the floor, sending shards of white stoneware and blobs of cheesy potatoes everywhere.

There was an additional shatter of glass and ice as Cooper tumbled and Errol screamed and then, somehow, Cooper was pinning her to the counter, holding her upright. "Are you okay?" He asked, pushing way, pulling Errol in closer to him. "It's okay, little guy. It's okay."

"Is he hurt?" Amelia almost shrieked.

"I don't know!" Cooper bounced their howling son in his arms.

"Well, don't just stand there, check! He could be cut or burned or -" A sob caught in Amelia's throat, as she reached for her son's legs, inspecting for any injury. "You knew I had a hot dish!"

"You didn't tell me you were coming behind me!"

"I was trying to get it to the table!"

"I was trying to help you set the table!"

"But you still had Errol!"

"I was entertaining him so you could study!"

Errol kept screaming over both of them, his cries only getting louder in response to theirs, even as Amelia frantically kept searching his little body for burns or cuts. "Nothing," she finally announced.

"Shhh, see, it's okay, it was just loud and frightening," Cooper shushed into his son's head, pulling him in closer.

Looking at them, Amelia sighed and then looked around at the mess that was their kitchen. Their too-small kitchen. They had all these modern convinces and not enough room to use them. She groaned at the sight of the casserole everywhere and all the shards to be cleaned up, and it only deepened when she saw some of the casserole had landed on the island, on her still open textbook. She grabbed the washcloth and dampened it in the sink and knelt down to start washing, when she noticed Cooper's footsteps crunching away from her. "Where are you going?"

"To rock our son so he calms down and put him to bed."

He was gone before Amelia could reply, and she knelt there in her ruined kitchen, her stomach rumbling at the delicious smell, exhausted from studying and teething, imagining her husband sitting down and enjoying the quiet, rocking Errol while her knees ached and she washed and swept and scrubbed like Cinderella and - oh! She pulled her hand back and looked down at the little shard of glass embedded in the meaty part of her palm and she lowered her head and she sobbed. She sobbed right there, surrounded by a ruined meal and a broken casserole dish and melting pieces of ice and a stained biochemistry textbook and no one cared. No one at all. Her husband only wanted to be alone with his little Time Lord and who could blame him, she thought, as she rubbed her hair back and discovered too late she'd only managed to mix melted cheese and blood into it and she sobbed some more.

Then she was being gathered, strong arms about her, pulling her in tight. "Amelia, it's okay. It's only a casserole."

"It's not though. It's the glass and the dish and the ice and my textbook and I cut my hand and there's cheese in my hair and I have to study and there's not enough clean dish towels to even clean this up with because I didn't do laundry this afternoon and -"

"You cut your hand?" Cooper pulled away slightly, looked at her with worried eyes. "Come on, let's go to the bathroom."

"What about the mess?"

"I'll clean it."

She let herself be led to the bathroom where she sat on the edge of the bathtub as Cooper gently and silently cleaned her hand and bandaged it. "Do you want a bath to wash your hair?" he asked. "I used a waterproof Band-Aid."

"I'm sorry about dinner," she answered instead.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you. You're right, I should have put Errol down and not stood your way." Cooper sighed. "But, Amelia, you do too much. You don't have to make dinner every night and do all the laundry and study and raise our son. You're a lot of wonderful things, but you're not Wonder Woman."

"I could be!" she protested with sniff. "Sometime, somewhere."

Cooper sighed again, and she realized he was giving in to her pouting. "Very well. Yes, you could be. But not in this timeline. In this timeline, you're overworking yourself."

"But I'm used to being busy," Amelia protested softly. Cooper was always telling her she was doing too much. "If we were in Kansas, I wouldn't have a washing machine and -"

"We're not in Kansas anymore, Amelia. And, even if we were, there wouldn't be any biochemistry for you to study there." Cooper bent down in front of her. "Listen, take a bath and relax while I go order pizza and clean the kitchen. No more work for you tonight -" he put his finger up when she opened her mouth "- or studying. You're already know it all, anyway, you're just working yourself up for nothing." As he stood, he kissed the non-potato side of her forehead and said, "I love you and I love your drive, but not everything has to be done at the same time."

* * *

"Come in," Amelia called at the soft knock at the door, even as she took that as her cue to get out of the bath.

"The pizza just arrived," Cooper said as he walked in. "Are you feeling better?"

Amelia nodded as she stood in the tub and reached for her towel. "I know you're right. I just need to calm down and relax sometimes. But I just think of all those woman, who fought and were imprisoned and force-feed so I could do all of this."

"Here." Cooper took the towel from her and rubbed it along her neck and shoulders. "Those women fought for your right to choose what you wanted to do, not for you to feel obligated to do everything possible at the same time to the detriment of your health and happiness."

She looked sharply at him. "Do you think I've been unhappy? Do I act like it? Am I - am I grouchy?"

"Maybe. A little," Cooper muttered, as he concentrated in an unnecessary way on drying her outstretched arm. He took a deep breath. "I've been thinking about that long weekend in the English countryside. We've both been too busy and stressed with work and school and even Errol's teething, and we could use the time away, without all these modern demands. I'm been grouchy, too, I think." She looked at him, hopeful he was saying what she thought he was saying, and he finally looked at her with a grin. "Put on your pantaloons, little lady! We're going to Regency England!"

"Oh, Cooper!" Amelia flung her arms around his neck the best she could while still standing in the bathtub. "Thank you! Except -" she pulled back with smirk "- I won't be wearing pantaloons. Regency-era woman didn't tend to wear anything under their petticoats."

"Are you saying you're not going to be wearing any underpants?" Cooper raised his eyebrows.

Amelia winked in what she hoped was seductive manner.

 _To be continued . . ._

* * *

 ** _Thank you for joining me for another Coopmelia adventure. As with all my Coopmelia stories, this is not meant to be a realistic historical treatise but rather a fun little romp through the tropes of an era. In this case, I've also referenced various Jane Austen-related films (see if you can spot them!). But all historical errors are mine alone, and some were even left in purposely._**

 ** _Once again, this work wouldn't be possible without the tireless efforts of my dear friend and beta, Melissa (here as AnotherBritFan), who worked on this even while busy and exhausted from moving her business into a new space._**

 ** _One last remainder that I am on Instagram as aprilinparisfanfic, where I'll be sharing story teasers and visuals related to this work in addition to my usual Shamy bookish geekery._**

 ** _As always, thank you in advance for your reviews._**

* * *

 ** _('So Hot In Herre' song, 2002, sung by Nelly;_** ** _'Austenland' movie, 2013, Sony Pictures Classic, based on the novel by the same name by Shannon Hale, 2007;_** ** _'Longbourn' novel, 2013, by Jo Baker)_**


	2. Chapter 2

**AMELIA AND THE ELECTRIC FROG**

 **CHAPTER TWO**

* * *

It was Amelia who suggested that they take Austen's fictional words as the nonfictional truth. All Cooper had to do was present himself as a single man in possession of a good fortune, and doors would be opened to them in hopes that he could find the wife he so desperately wanted among the eligible young ladies of whatever small village they settled upon.

"But I don't want an eligible young lady from some village. I thought the point was that I wanted you," Cooper protested.

"Yes, of course you do and don't you forget it. But you won't realize that until at least half-way through the story - I mean, weekend."

He raised his eyebrow in that way he had, but he didn't reply.

Instead, Cooper researched the accounts of varies demonstrations of galvanism in the stately homes of the time, narrowing down the map to those that seemed the most promising. Then, surveying the property records of the time, they settled upon Grantchestershireham, a middling village with both an inn for travelers and, most importantly for their cover, a large estate that would be empty and out to let because all the male members of the family had perished. "Does it make me a hypocrite if we take advantage of the vial English custom of entail for our own amusement?" Amelia wondered.

"As we won't actually be letting or purchasing the property, no," Cooper reassured. "It's just our excuse for being there."

And so, the location and dates determined by these factors, the necessary clothing and accessories purchased, and the counterfeit money printed, they stepped into the time machine once more, holding hands through the decades spinning past them, and they landed on an English morning of the past for their romantic weekend. After the time machine was successfully cloaked and the key well hidden, they walked under an overcast sky to the stage coach stop nearby.

When Amelia alighted from the coach at their destination, her bones still rattling even though they'd only caught it one village away instead of in London, she looked around and couldn't help but feel disappointed. This little hovel was going to play host to her Regency fantasy? The cold rain that had started wasn't helping, turning the street into horse-manure smelling mud that, despite her best efforts, was soiling the bottom of her new pastel dress. They'd come to enjoy a romantic English summer, and this was it? At least Cooper looked debonair, in his top hat and dark double-breasted long coat, helping her down from the carriage.

"Here we are," the driver needlessly announced, passing down their cases from the roof, "Grantchestershireham. The Suckle and The Swallow is just behind you."

"The what?" Amelia couldn't help but say as she and Cooper turned in unison.

Cooper stretched out his arm and pointed to the hanging sign on the local inn. Depicted was a small fork-tailed bird sitting on a branch next to a orange trumpet-shaped flower. "Honeysuckle and a passerine bird, Amelia," he said. But then he turned and wiggled his eyebrows and she had to cover her face with her hand to hide her smile. Perhaps things were looking up on this dreary English morning.

While he was signing the ledger, Cooper lost no time in setting Amelia's plan in motion, asking the proprietress where he could make inquiries into letting Grantchestershireham Hall. "My cousin and I - third cousin, twice removed, practically not related at all - have just arrived from America, you see, and we wish to establish our lives here, away from all the violence between the French and the Indians. Although it's a little smaller than I am used to, I have heard it is a very fine property. I have to spend my 10,000 pounds a year on something."

It was an affront to propriety, taking so glibly about money like that to a complete stranger, but the woman managed to stifle her surprise at the mention of the amount. Not only was the necessary name given with only minimal stammering, but Mrs. Shipley offered to arrange a meeting. "Most excellent," Cooper nodded.

As they retired to their rooms - separate, as agreed upon beforehand, although it pained both of them not to rip off their clothes right there - Amelia was not privy to the events that occurred next. However, she had a vivid imagination, and she could easily imagine Mrs. Shipley's rotund form racing out the back door, even in the rain, running to some other widow in the neighborhood to breathlessly tell of the newest arrivals at The Suckle and The Swallow complete with their - well, his - 10,000 pounds a year. She probably didn't even take the time to change her mop cap for a bonnet. The widow friend told her neighbor who told her niece who told her dearest friend who told . . .

Regardless of the actual path of the news, an invitation arrived for Cooper and Amelia just in time for the luncheon Mrs. Shipley offered her "most esteemed guests." She actually used that phrase over her apologizes for its meagerness, forcing Amelia to stifle another giggle.

"Ah, we are being invited for dinner this evening at Totel Manor." Cooper smiled over the top of the letter. Then he glanced down again. "Good heavens, not until eight o'clock!"

"It was common at the -" Amelia stopped herself just in time, in case they were being eavesdropped upon. "Rather, I've heard it's very common here in England to eat that late."

Smiling again, Cooper leaned in closer to cut off another piece of cheese. "Well done, Amelia," he said softly. "Your plan seems to have succeeded."

She smiled back, but then looked down at the cucumber salad upon her plate and pushed some of it to the other side.

"Not hungry?" Cooper asked. "You'd better eat up, anyway, if dinner isn't until eight. We will have tea earlier, do you think? It that a thing yet?"

"I don't know," Amelia said absentmindedly.

"You don't know? You've been immersing yourself in Jane Austen's world for months now."

Glancing up sharply, Amelia shook her head. "I'm sorry. I must have misheard you. I can't remember what you asked now."

Cooper's brow furrowed and he leaned over the table. His hand stretched out to rest on top of hers and he said, "Amelia? Are you well?"

"I was thinking about Errol," she said with a sigh.

"Ah." Cooper's face lit and softened. "He's fine. Penelope and Leo have him. And we'll be back in only two hours, as far as they'll know. He won't know anything, he'll probably still be asleep."

"I know, I know." Amelia nodded forcefully. "But it will be at least three days for us, maybe longer."

Just then, Mrs. Shipley shuffled back in offering more food and generally making a fuss over them. Cooper inquired about Totel Manor and its residents, explaining their invitation.

"Such a fine, upstanding family. Sir was in the Navy. Poor Lady Totel has been poorly lately, but she hasn't allowed that to interfere with her duties as the county's finest hostess. There is to be a ball there, this Saturday, have you heard? Their daughter, Henrietta, just came out this year and -" Miss Shipley leaned in closer "- they're sparing no expense."

"A ball?" Amelia said, a bit more breathlessly than she meant to. Their records search had revealed mention of a small house party, including the desired scientific experiment, but not a ball. Perhaps if she let it be known that she and Cooper knew of the ball, the hospitality of this village would be extended to them.

"Indeed, but I'm not sure it's the type of ball I'd like to attend. They've invited one of those newfangled scientist chaps from London, even, although I am not certain now if he will be in attendance -"

"Oh? Why not?" Cooper interrupted, and Amelia saw the worry flit across his face.

"I heard from Mrs. Robin, at the haberdashery, that the man in question is to arrive tonight for dinner. She was uncertain if his little tricks were meant for entertainment tonight or if he will perform at the ball. Most singular that would be, science at a ball. Perhaps it is just for dinner tonight. That would be better, I suppose. Not sure I abide by even that, mind you, seems an affront to our Lord but . . ."

Taking a drink from her tea, Amelia's eyes met Cooper's. His face was glowing again.

* * *

Totel Manor was a beautiful home, and, given its enormous size, Amelia struggled to fathom how large Grantchestershireham Hall would be. Despite Mrs. Shipley's best efforts, they had not spent the day making certain plans to visit it, instead giving various excuses for the delay such as the weather and their travel fatigue.

Unsure of protocol, Amelia had chosen her second best dress from her trunk, saving the green silk in hopes of an invitation to the ball. Once in the carriage that Mrs. Shipley had arranged for them, finally alone together, Cooper took her hand and leaned over to kiss her cheek. "You look lovely."

"Thank you." She pulled her hand out from under his. "But remember, we're cousins who don't really know each other well."

"Of course. Worldly but mysterious and emotionally distant." Then he got up and shuffled to the seat opposite her, no small feat given his long frame and the confines of the carriage. He spent the rest of the journey silently looking out the window.

When they arrived, formal introductions were made in the drawing room, and Amelia felt relieved that she and Cooper seemed to manage all the correct terms of etiquette. He introduced her as his cousin, as promised, and Amelia shivered slightly at the chills from his emotional distance.

As expected, their hosts were Sir and Lady Totel, he wearing an old navel uniform that strained over his midsection and she looking thin and pale, and their daughter, Henrietta, a vision of English beauty, with pale silken hair, large blue eyes, and the rosiest of pink lips. Amelia doubted she would have any trouble securing a suitor at the ball. However, she found herself uneasy beneath Henrietta's gaze, and more than once when she glanced over at the girl, she found herself being either blatantly stared at, or, worse, Henrietta's face covered with her fan as she leaned to whisper in the ear of her friend - Susan? - as they both giggled and studied her. Amelia ran her hand along the edge of her hair. She had tried her best to arrange it, but it was still growing out from its bob the year prior and did not conform to these strict Grecian styles.

"- a prominent scientist?" she heard Cooper ask, and she tried to shake off the too-curious eyes.

"Not prominent yet, unfortunately, although I have been assured this bookbinder is quite knowledgeable and capable," Sir Totel replied. "I'd hoped for Mr. Humphrey Davy, as he did the most enlightening display at Briarly last season, but apparently he is only lecturing in London now."

"A bookbinder, you say?" Cooper asked, his eyes shining bright. Amelia forced herself to hide her smile. They had discovered a remnant of a letter in their research that stated that a young Michael Faraday had given a demonstration in galvanism at a party this weekend, although the name of the home had been eaten away from the paper by time. Cross-referenced with a mention of unnamed scientist at Totel Manor, they'd pinned their hopes on this coincidence.

"Yes." Sir Totel nodded. "I trust he has Mr. Davy's skill with these new electrical ideas, as I have been assured."

"How ghastly," Lady Totel said, fanning herself. "I would prefer not to have such dangerous pursuits under my roof, but my husband is insistent."

"It will draw a wider range of young men to the ball, my dear," Sir Totel said firmly.

Amelia's heart skipped at the mention of the ball.

"I, too, am unsure if it is wise, my Lady," the little balding man sitting across from Amelia said. Mr. Blandly? Yes, Mr. Blandly. He had a face like a ferret, all teeth and nose. Mrs. Blandly sat next to him, not having spoken more than five words, barely looking up from her lap. "It is not so much the quantity of suitors that is important, as it is the quality. For example, a man who knows how to handle a horse in the finest English manner, that is the most desirable guest."

"I _also_ would _prefer_ a man who rides _well_. Science is so _boring_ ," Henrietta chimed. Susan giggled behind her fan.

"Henrietta, please do not embarrass our guests with your opinion. It is unladylike to have opinions," Lady Totel corrected her.

Amelia frowned, torn. She knew that science, and especially the scientists behind the experiments, were not boring at all. Quite the opposite. But she hated to see any woman's opinions and thoughts squashed in such a manner. No wonder Mrs. Blandly seemed only interested in the reticule on her lap.

"I prefer a man who both rides well and knows about science," Amelia risked saying, glancing at Cooper. She hoped her cheeks did not betray the memory of his lean body upon the horse as they rode across the prairie, his chest bare and his dark hair whipping in the breeze.

But when Cooper only looked away without so much as a knowing spark in his eyes, Amelia wished that her cheeks had flushed, just as she wished his would have.

" _Whatever_ for?" Henrietta asked. "Sounds _beastly_ to me."

Then Henrietta was chastised by her mother again, despite Susan's giggles, and the butter's announcement that dinner was ready halted any further conversation on the topic.

* * *

"So, Mr. Shelton," Lady Totel asked, leaning closer to Cooper, seated at her right which Amelia recognized as the seat of honor, "what brings you all the way from America?"

The dining room was aglow with candles, the light catching the twinkling of the silver and the gilt and the crystal. It had been all Amelia could do not to gasp when she had been escorted to the room, and the sight of such finery, the stuff of her Austen-dreams, had lifted her out of the disappointment that it was not Cooper's arm she was resting on. Instead, she and Susan had walked beside one another as the least important guests present. Cooper was well in front of her, leading the beautiful if somewhat strident Henrietta. Amelia tried to focus on the lovely span of his shoulders and not the way Henrietta had obviously noticed them herself when she took his arm.

"Well," Cooper said, dapping the corner of his mouth before lowering his napkin, "I decided that the peace of your fine country would better suit my cousin - third cousin, twice removed, practically not related at all - for the time being. Her family, you see, recently met tragic ends in America."

Something between a gasp and a murmur went around the table as all eyes swiveled to Amelia. She found herself blushing, which was only appropriate given the circumstances, and she looked down at her plate of jugged hare and painted on a sad visage for her fictional relatives.

"Oh, you poor _dear_!" Henrietta said.

There was a loud clearing of the throat, and then Sir Totel spoke. "You feel safe leaving your properties at this time? I understand things are becoming untenable with France, even in the wilds of our former colonies."

"I, uh, I don't have any properties. Not as you think of them, I mean, an estate. I am a . . . businessman," Cooper replied. Amelia briefly raised her eyebrows and then pushed them back down again. It was not the alibi she would expect Cooper to give. Perhaps he thought more than one scientist in the house would be too crowded. Or perhaps the snide remarks about said scientists earlier had rankled him. That would explain his looking away from her in drawing room earlier, wouldn't it?

"Ah, America, land of the self-made man. Very commendable, that," Sir Total said. Amelia bit off her desire to say that it was only very commendable to these landed gentry when it was an entire ocean away, not in their backyard. "What is your business, if I may ask, that it can spare you?"

"Oh, um -" Amelia really wished he would say something scientific so that he could stop floundering, "- guns. Yes, guns. Muskets and such. Very popular in America."

Guns? Why on Earth had Cooper said that, of all things? He knew nothing about guns, had no reason to know anything about them, and, in fact, generally disapproved of every type other than the paintball variety.

Sir Totel grunted in what Amelia took as either agreement or manly approval. "Will you have to return should our current difficulties with that French midget spread your way?"

"No, I don't believe so. I have a manager that oversees the day-to-day workings so that it is rarely necessary for me to visit the assemblages anymore. I trust him implicitly," Cooper said quickly, and Amelia gave a little breath as he seemed more sure. And because he managed to give a valid excuse for not knowing the details.

"How ideal," Mr. Blandly said. "I have never thought it wise to lower oneself needlessly into a subordinate situation and socialize there."

Amelia choked on a bite of stewed celery and not just because it was slimy. Did he actually just say that?

"Perhaps politics would be better discussed after dinner, so as not to offend the delicate sensibilities of we ladies," Lady Totel said gently.

"Quite right. My apologies," Mr. Blandly bent over his plate.

Lady Totel nodded at him and turned toward Cooper again. "Mr. Shelton, will you accept my invitation to join us at the ball in two evening's time?"

Amelia held her breath.

"I should be delighted -" there was a rustle from Henrietta's seat but Amelia tried to ignore it "- and my cousin would most enjoy the distraction."

"Oh, yes, Miss _Farrow_ , you _simply must_ come, too!" Henrietta said, turning toward her.

Her heart thumping in excitement, Amelia easily ignored the implication that Cooper would be invited and she wouldn't, saying instead, "I, too, should be delighted to attend."

Cooper was looking at her, so she smiled at him, a silent message of excitement that their plan was working. A real Regency ball! With Cooper! Dressed like Mr. Darcy! He nodded slightly at her, but his face gave away nothing else. Not for the first time that evening, Amelia was torn about how well he was succeeding at emulating said Mr. Darcy.

* * *

Hiding her reaction to yet another disappointment, Amelia followed the other young ladies into the drawing room, which was already lit with candles and a roaring fire. Lady Totel left them in the hallway, saying she didn't feel well and would retire early. As it was almost eleven, Amelia didn't think it was that early, but she curtsied and thanked her hostess nonetheless.

Unsure what to do, the hoped-for pastimes of playing cards with or making a silhouette of Cooper thwarted, Amelia sat in a small chair the furthest from the fire. It really was quite stuffy, even this late at night. The rain continued unchecked out the windows, the wind howling, and it only added to the claustrophobic feel of the room. Henrietta and Susan immediately produced some needlework, which they set to doing. Amelia frowned, not having thought to bring such a thing to a dinner party. Not that she had any to bring.

"Miss Farrow, I _so_ hoped you _enjoyed_ your meal," Henrietta said.

"Yes, thank you," Amelia replied. It was a lie, her stomach gurgling away from the heavy food and what she recognized as the beginning of heartburn, but it was the polite, expected lie.

"Is it true that your charming cousin rescued you?" Susan asked.

Amelia raised her eyebrows. Well, these girls didn't waste any time. But it pleased her to hear Susan speak, as she had seemed smothered under Henrietta's unnecessary italics until now. But Cooper, charming? Normally, yes, she thought so, but not tonight. Amelia thought he had seemed not like his usual self, distant in some way that she wasn't entirely sure had to do with Mr. Darcy, having difficulty finding his footing, maybe. He shouldn't have lied about his occupation; perhaps his realization of this error was bothering him, too. "I don't know if rescued is the correct term, but I would be lost without him and his generosity. I am most grateful."

"So _noble_!" Henrietta said. "It is _forward_ of me to ask, but have you ever _seen_ any . . . _savages_?" Her eyes practically pounced upon Amelia's face.

It had always been both she and Cooper's opinion to tell the truth as much as possible; the fewer, less complex lies there were to keep track of the better. Which is why it had surprised her so much when Cooper said he was business owner at dinner. And guns, at that! "A few," she answered honestly, thinking of her childhood on the prairie of Kansas. "But I prefer not to call them savages as I have never found them to be that way."

"How _ghastly_!" Henrietta cried.

Susan gave a slight shiver. "Let us not speak of it. Our mothers would not approve." She looked back down at her needlework and asked, "Have you been to an English ball before, Miss Farrow? Or even an American version of one?"

"No, I haven't," Amelia replied. "I'm very much looking forward to it."

"Do you have a _dress_ to wear?" Henrietta asked. "I am _quite_ sure our _standards_ are much higher than those plain _American_ frocks you are _used_ to wearing."

Amelia frowned and looked down at her dress. How could they have possibly known it was American? As per her usual time travel duties, she had poured over historical drawings and records, and she had paid a seamstress extra to make her authentic gowns quickly, claiming it was for cosplay. No, it wasn't as light and as fine as Henrietta and Susan's dresses, but she was quite taken with pale lavender vine in the fabric. Had she made a misstep in her clothing selections? "Yes, I have a fine silk dress," she answered and then paused before adding a lie, "We purchased it in London."

"Oh, how w _onderful_!" Henrietta cheered. "Really, your _cousin_ is the _most_ generous _gentleman_ , to _rescue_ you and bring you here where it is _civilized_ and to outfit you in _manner_ in which you no doubt could not do on your own in such _reduced circumstances_."

So that is what it meant to gnash one's teeth! Hot and flustered, Amelia stood to take a turn about the room, further away from the fireplace and to hide her flushing.

"Are you _quite_ well, Miss Farrow?" Henrietta asked, her voice extra syrupy.

"Quite," Amelia answered too sharply, before she thought. "I am just over warm, that is all." She walked toward one of the windows and pulled back the heavy drapes, breathing out softly as a rush of cool draft met her.

"You should come away from the window," Susan offered. "You'll catch a chill."

Ignoring her, Amelia peered out into the darkness. There wasn't darkness like this in the future; the only view out the windows of her apartment with Cooper was of lights and ever more lights. That, too, had its appeal, but she found she missed the pure ink of night at times. Then she noticed the absence of water droplets on the wavy plane of glass and no streak of lightning to interrupt the darkness.

"I'm going outside," she announced, desperate to be away from the stifling cloister of the room.

"Oh, no, you mustn't!" Susan cried. "It is raining and dark."

"The rain has stopped," Amelia explained, crossing the room to pull the cord for a servant, just as she'd seen members of the household do earlier. Henrietta and Susan's faces, though, looked shocked that she would do this. Had it been improper?

"This is not _America_ ," Henrietta said. "One does not just go _outside_ alone after _dark_."

"Well, this one does," Amelia rebutted, pleased that the manservant from before appeared and took the request for her cloak without comment.

"What _will_ we tell Mr. Shelton?" Henrietta asked. "Fo _r I_ shall have to tell him _something_ , and _I_ wouldn't wish to tell him you're doing something _foolish_ against our _express wishes._ "

 _You'd love that, wouldn't you?_ , Amelia thought coldly. Instead, she said, swinging her fetched cloak around her, "Tell him I went to find and use the necessary house."

Susan and Henrietta gasped at the very idea, and Amelia stormed out with a grin. She crossed the hall with a fast step and threw open the front door to the night air, taking a deep breath of how fresh it was. Stepping out from under the small portico, a few water droplets landed on her skin, informing her that it had not, in fact, stopped raining after all. But it no longer seemed to be storming, just a steady patter, and she needed to get out of that room or she would scream.

Several steps forward, Amelia stopped and looked around. There was the relative blaze of the house behind her, with several windows softly glowing from the candlelight within. And, to her left, several yards away was another building with a lesser glow. The stables, perhaps? Some other outbuilding? But her eyes could make out nothing anywhere else. She should have asked for a lantern of some sort. Would she have been given it? Not only did she have no idea where she was headed, she couldn't see the ground in front of her. Perhaps she would walk slowly around the house, always keeping its windows in her sight to serve as a guide.

She took a few steps and then she heard a rapid clapping sound in the distance. Swiveling her head to locate it, Amelia saw a single point of light even beyond the stables, in the direction she recalled as the front drive. Stopping to watch it draw closer, she realized it must be a rider on a horse, someone traveling at a good clip. And they were coming towards the house. The clapping got louder and she was able to differentiate the clip-clop of hooves and the occasional snort of a horse, and the light came close enough that she started to make out the rider, someone tall but otherwise hidden in shadow.

Standing and clutching her black cloak tight around her, she watched, still and curious, even as the rain picked up again, drowning her hair. Seeing how fast and close he was coming, she stepped backward just as a rumble of thunder broke the night and the horse skidded almost to her, and the rider yelled out, "Whoa! Whoa, boy!"

The horse whinnied and reared up on its hind legs, and Amelia quickly took another step back. Except there wasn't any ground there and her eyes opened wide and she screamed as she fell backwards, twirling her arms as she landed on the wet earth.

"Miss, may I be of assistance? Are you injured?"

Amelia shielded her eyes from the rain and looked up as the stranger swung himself off his horse, quite nimbly, she thought, for his apparent height and the fact he was still holding the lantern in his hand.

"I - I tripped. I think I'm unharmed, though," she answered, struggling to lift herself up off the soaked grass.

"Wait! I will assist you. It is my fault, I should not have been galloping so close to the house." The stranger took off his top hat and bowed slightly. A flash of lightning illuminated him far brighter than his lantern could have, and Amelia craned her neck to look ever higher at his tall form. Even taller than Cooper. She followed his frame up to his bright red beard and hair, and his eyes smiled behind a pair of spectacles.

"David Gibson, at your service."

 _To be continued . . ._

* * *

 ** _;-)_**

 ** _Thank you in advance for your reviews!_**


	3. Chapter 3

**AMELIA AND THE ELECTRIC FROG**

 **CHAPTER THREE**

* * *

"Amelia!" Cooper cried and she saw him cutting through the small throng, not apologizing for the wake he left, rushing to her side as Mr. Gibson gently laid her down upon the settee. He had insisted on picking her up and carrying her into the house despite her protests. "What happened? Are you injured?"

Any pain in her ankle faded instantly at the sight of her husband's concern: his furrowed brow, the worried eyes, the emotion in his voice that she'd so been missing this evening. He even reached out for her hand. "Cooper, really, I'm fine. I tripped and barely turned my ankle; it's just a little sore. I didn't even need Mr. Gibson's assistance -"

Cooper dropped her hand and stood straighter, looking up at the taller man. The two of them towered over everyone else in the room.

"Mr. Shelton, Miss Farrow's cousin, I presume? Pleasure to meet you, sir," Mr. Gibson put out his hand.

"Yes," Cooper said as he shook the hand, "thank you."

"Although I am certain we are grateful for your assistance with the lady, may I inquire as to your purpose here?" Sir Totel asked.

"Oh, excuse me, I'm quite forgotten protocol in all the excitement." Mr. Gibson finally swept off his hat, dripping water from its brim upon the rug, and bowed deeply. "David Gibson of the Royal Institute. I believe you requested some electrical experiments in galvanism at a ball."

"But you're not Michael Faraday!" Cooper cried.

Mr. Gibson stood and gave him an amused smile. "Indeed not. I have had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Faraday, and, while he is a very curious and knowledgeable amateur, he is, alas, only a bookbinder. The Institute thought perhaps you would like one of its members to perform the demonstration."

"But I've never heard of you!" Cooper cried again.

"Oh, I just joined the Institute very recently, you see. I've been . . . overseas until now and have just returned to the land of my birth."

Amelia frowned, craning her neck to look back and forth between the two tall men. She felt disappointed for Cooper, who was obviously upset by the turn of events, but she also felt sympathy for poor Mr. Gibson, who was just doing his job and had been so chivalrous to her only minutes before.

"I'm sure it will be highly educational, Mr. Gibson. I find the topic of galvanism fascinating," she offered in support.

"No, you don't," Cooper said sharply.

"Yes, I do," she snapped back. "I'm sure that whoever performs the demonstration we will find it educational."

"Are the ladies going to present for the demonstration?" Mr. Blandly asked. "I should have thought it would shock their delicate constitutions."

Grunting slightly, Amelia sat upright, determined to tell Mr. Blandly exactly what she thought -

"I could not disagree more, sir," Mr. Gibson said. "It has been my experience that a woman's mind is just as capable of comprehending the sciences as a man's." He turned to look at Cooper. "Would you not agree, Mr. Shelton?"

"What? Oh. Indeed. Amelia may watch if she likes," he said.

" _Why_ would she _want_ to?" Henrietta was heard to whisper.

"I do not need your permission to watch," Amelia said to Cooper.

Cooper raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth but Sir Totel interjected, "I believe we have forgotten all about poor Miss Farrow's injury. You simply must stay here with us tonight, Miss Farrow, I do not think a carriage ride should be risked in such a situation. The weather remains quite foul."

"No, really, it's fine," Amelia protested. She needed to go to the inn with Cooper. Even though they were in separate rooms, the carriage ride would give them the privacy to discuss the events of the evening.

"No, my _dear_ Miss Farrow, you _simply_ must stay. Both you and Mr. Shelton. Stay _at least_ until the ball," Henrietta interjected, rushing to Amelia's side. "Your _presence_ shall only add _interest_ to our _little_ house party." But she looked up at Cooper as she said it.

"But we don't have our clothes -"

"I shall send my own coachman back to get your trucks," Mr. Blandly announced. "With Mr. Shelton's assistance, of course."

"But -"

Cooper bent down and whispered in her ear, "Amelia, isn't this what you wanted? Your Regency house party?" Then he stood and said, "My cousin and I are grateful and most humbled by your kind offer. It would be our pleasure. Yes, Mr. Blandly, perhaps we should make haste to the inn so as not to inconvenience the proprietress more than necessary this late in the evening."

And, with that, Cooper swept out of the room, his stride long and sure, leaving Amelia alone in the midst of a Regency house party she wasn't all together sure she wanted anymore.

* * *

The morning dawned clear and bright, but Amelia only cursed the sunlit room. It looked even more shabby in the sunshine. After yawning and stretching, she sat up on her elbows and looked around. She had not slept well. As she was assisted upstairs the prior evening, it was made explicitly clear that her financial standing influenced even the bedroom she was given. The silk-draped beds she spied through open doors she passed were not to be hers. Instead, her bed was not draped at all. And uncomfortable. Having missed her opportunity to use the privy by her ill-timed stumble, she'd been forced to relieve herself in the chamber pot; despite its lid, the very presence disturbed her as it could only one grown accustomed to indoor plumbing. The paper-thin walls admitted all the sounds from next door, where Mr. Gibson's coughing and sniffling were only relieved by even louder snores. So it seemed they were on the same socioeconomic scale here.

Amelia looked down at her feet under the blankets and rolled her ankle. It was a little tender but not by much. Certainly nothing that would stop her from finding Cooper and discussing the changes in the plan with him. She reached over and rang the bell, pleasantly surprised when Henrietta's maid, Jane, arrived so quickly.

"Ah, Miss, you're awake. How are you feeling?" Jane bustled in. Amelia had been impressed by her efficiency last night when she had assisted her in preparing for bed.

Sitting up straighter, Amelia replied, "Quite well, thank you. I was wondering if you could have Mr. Shelton bring my case in -"

"It is just outside your door already, Miss. Jonathon will bring in now that you are awake. No need to bother Mr. Shelton with such trivialities. Shall I have breakfast sent up?"

Not thinking that her clothing or an overdue conversation with her husband were trivialities, Amelia frowned as she pulled the blankets off her legs. "Breakfast sent up? No, thank you. I need to dress and then I will go downstairs to -"

"I will bring your breakfast, Miss, but I cannot allow you to get up and dress."

"Why ever not?" Amelia asked, trying to swing her legs over the side of the bed.

Jane stepped up closer, blocking her path. "Miss Totel -"

"Henrietta?"

"Yes, Miss Totel has requested that you stay in bed to heal. She has kindly sent me to serve your needs all day, while you recover. I believe she has plans to come check on your convalescence herself later this afternoon."

"Convalescence?" Amelia could not think of a worse outcome for her weekend than to be trapped in this airless room, on this uncomfortable bed, smelling her own waste, the boredom broken only by a visit from Henrietta and her lackey. "No, I will not stay here in bed. I will get up and get dressed and proceed with my day as usual."

"But, Miss, you must. It is Miss Totel's kind request that you do not tax yourself. I will serve your needs."

Amelia struggled with a circular conversation in which Jane repeatedly told her that Henrietta said she should stay in bed and in which Amelia repeatedly argued that she felt just fine and did not need to stay in bed. Her voice must have rose along with her frustration, because there was a knock at the door and Mr. Gibson's voice came from the other side, "I say, is all well?"

"Come in!" Amelia called before Jane could reply.

The door opened and Mr. Gibson stepped in, although he quickly turned his body away from them, averting his eyes to look out the window instead, no doubt from the sight of her in a nightgown and in bed. "Mr. Gibson, I am so pleased to see you. If you will please go find Coo - Mr. Shelton for me and bring him here, I need to speak to him. Alone."

"Perhaps it would be best if I just gave him a message, unless it is of vital importance. It seems you are being attended to," Mr. Gibson suggested.

It seemed that even Cooper, despite being her cousin and chaperone, wouldn't be allowed in her bedroom.

"It is extremely vital. Please tell him I am being held against my will as a prisoner." Jane flinched next to her at the tone she used, but Amelia was past caring.

"Surely not a prisoner, Miss Farrow. No doubt everyone is concerned for your health after your fall -"

"I am not some weak-willed ninny! I am perfectly fine, and I demand to be let out of this room!"

Now Mr. Gibson turned his head and looked at her, at least for a moment, before moving his gaze onto Jane. "You heard the young lady. She has instructed you to make her ready for breakfast, and I suggest that you do as she requests."

Amelia let out a breath. "Thank you so much, Mr. Gibson. Now if you will be kind enough to go get Cooper, he will assist me with anything I may -"

"Nonsense. It would be my honor to steady you as you ambulate to breakfast. I shall just sit in the hall and read until such time as you are ready." He met her eyes again and held them. "I assure you, I am but a gentle giant."

"Very well," Amelia said, trying not to grumble. If the only way she was going to keep this bedchamber from turning into her jail cell was to leave on Mr. Gibson's arm, not Cooper's, then so be it.

* * *

Although he was not Cooper, he was good as his word, and Mr. Gibson gallantly extended his arm to her as he led her down to breakfast. Amelia did not need his assistance, but he would not allow her to walk on her own.

"Miss Farrow! _Whatever_ are you doing up and _about_?" At least the look on Henrietta's face was worth it.

"I feel quite well." She shifted and nodded. "And Mr. Gibson was kind enough to lend me his arm for support, so that I had no difficulties."

"It seems you are forever rescuing my cousin," Cooper grumbled, from where he was standing at the sideboard, filling his plate.

Amelia pulled her arm out of the crook of Mr. Gibson's elbow, opening her mouth to protest when Mr. Gibson bowed slightly next to her. "It is my pleasure. Your cousin is most . . . energetic."

Blushing and furious at herself for doing just that, Amelia interjected, "I'm sure that's so."

"No, no, Amelia," Cooper said, pulling out a chair and sitting down. "Mr. Gibson is correct. Your energy cannot be tempered. Even when it should be." With that, he snapped open the newspaper laying next to him and buried his face in it.

Henrietta tittered for a second and then the room fell uncomfortably quiet. Amelia stepped forward to fill her own plate.

"You sit, Miss Farrow, I will get a plate for you," Mr. Gibson stepped in front of her.

"I will do it myself," Amelia said between clenched teeth, sweeping past both his raised eyebrows and Cooper's face hidden behind the newspaper.

* * *

The day having dawned especially fine, with birds chirping and the roses a riot of early summer colors, it was decided over breakfast that it would be the ideal weather in which to float upon the pond. Rather, it was Henrietta who decided this, breaking the silence with her plan and pointedly looking in Cooper's direction as she said, "What _luck_! Now that Mr. Gibson has _arrived_ , there will be someone to row for each of _us_!"

It was not asked who the "us" would be, because, of course, it was understood that the ladies would be incapable of rowing themselves. Ignoring the insult, Amelia looked at Cooper over her plate of broiled eggs. She wished he was closer, so they might talk quietly between themselves, but he was flanked by Henrietta and Susan. Cooper hated boats; in fact, he seemed to have some sort of phobia about them. She tilted her head at his startled face and said, "Actually, Mr. Shelton -"

"Oh, how _heartless_ of me!" Henrietta interrupted her. "Ms. Farrow, I had _forgotten_ about your _invalidity_! How _unfortunate_ that you won't be able to _join_ us."

Amelia dropped her fork with a clatter, and Cooper actually jumped. Of all the low down, dirty tricks! "Oh, I'm going. My ankle is just fine, thank you."

"But I couldn't _live_ with myself if you were injured _further,_ " Henrietta protested. "Neither could _you_ , Mr. Shelton, I am _sure_."

"What? Oh, of course not," he stuttered, but his coloring quickly returned. "In that case, I suppose we can't go boating at all. We'll have to find something to do away from any hazardous bodies of water."

"Ohh," Susan let out a soft sound of disappointment. "I was so looking forward to it."

"Now, Susan, what sort of _hostesses_ would we be if we did not _consider_ Miss Farrow's _delicate_ constitution?"

"I am not delicate!" Amelia stood as she made this proclamation, leaving both Mr. Gibson and Mr. Blandly struggling to stand up themselves. Cooper stayed in his seat. "We will go boating at eleven."

With that, she straightened her back and did her best to stride out of the room without a limp, her frustrations trailing behind her even more than her gown.

* * *

Her temper cooled as she sat alone in her bedroom. The bed was still lumpy and the room remained chilly even on this sunny morning, but there were a stack of books by the window, none of which Amelia was familiar. She chose one based on its title and settled in to read it; she quickly decided there was a reason the novel was lost to history, but it did manage to distract her.

Still contemplating how everything about this house party was going wrong - but not pouting, Amelia insisted - she even asked Jane to bring her some tea. As she was finishing, she heard the soft tingle of a piano forte from somewhere in the house, and Amelia frowned over her cup. What if everyone was gathered around in the drawing room, laughing and playing whist without her? Was it Cooper playing on the piano forte? Or was he somewhere, ringing his hands and trying to think of a way to get out the planned boating party?

Poor Cooper. This weekend wasn't turning out the way he'd planned, either. First, Mr. Gibson instead of Michael Faraday, and now boats and water. Even though Mr. Gibson was exceedingly helpful and pleasant, and even if Cooper hadn't noticed how vial Henrietta was, he had to be disappointed. And Amelia had been so childish at breakfast. Yes, he'd been distant and cool, but isn't that exactly what she'd asked him be? Instead of hiding here in this room, she needed to make amends, find a way to convince her husband to be his usual charming self, not the semi-insulting Mr. Darcy she'd requested.

"Is the boating party still planned for eleven?" Amelia asked Jane as she removed her tea tray.

"Yes, miss. But I thought you were too ill to attend," Jane replied.

Muttering, Amelia said, "I wonder who gave you that idea."

"Excuse me, Miss?"

"I was asking if you wouldn't mind helping me change into my white dress?"

Dressed in what she presumed was a boating costume, complete with white bonnet, parasol, and fan, Amelia managed to make it out to the edge of the pond before the rest of the party, except for Cooper. He was holding his hat behind him, staring at the surface of the small pond, the edges covered in lily pads. He turned at her approach.

"We should be in a boat together," she said with a reassuring tone. "It's okay, we'll stay close the edge, I won't make you row to the middle. I'll stay very still, so there's no risk of capsizing and ending up in that dirty water."

"Yes. I agree." Cooper nodded. Then he smiled softly. "Thank you."

Smiling back, hoping that perhaps the tension of the dining room had been left behind for good, Amelia said, "Cooper, we need to talk about -"

Just then, Henrietta and Susan appeared over the small rise from the house, their own parasols twirling in the sunshine. "Oh, Mr. _Shelton_ , what _luck_ , you've _already_ secured our boat and it is my _favorite_."

Cooper looked down at the boat resting closest to his feet. "I had thought that Miss Farrow would accompany me," he explained, raising his head.

"Really, Mr. _Shelton,_ you cannot _keep_ your cousin all to yourself _all_ the time! She is so _delightful,_ we all want _time_ with her. Don't _we_ , Susan?"

"Oh - oh, yes, we do." Susan nodded on cue.

"Now, Miss _Farrow_ \- Amelia, you don't mind if I call you _Amelia_ , do you?, now that we are _friends_ -" Henrietta started as she hooked her arm through Amelia's unsuspecting one and started to pull her away from Cooper.

"Actually, I -" Amelia tried to protest. Protest about being called Amelia, protest at the idea that they are friends, but most especially protest at being taken from Cooper's side.

"Listen, my _dear_ Amelia," Henrietta continued, leaning in to whisper, "I understand our refined ways are quite _foreign_ to you, so I shall make the sacrifice of a _true friend_ and take you under my wing and help you navigate our _complex_ way of life."

"Thank you, but -"

"As I was _saying_ ," Henrietta took Amelia's interruption as a sign to lean in even closer, and her grip became only stronger on Amelia's arm as Cooper receded further behind them, "I do not know how it is done in _America_ , but here we ladies _simply_ need to be _realistic_ about our expectations. Just because Mr. Shelton is your _relative_ and has _gallantly_ taken you away from those _savages_ and all that fighting - what a very _noble_ man! - you _must not_ assume that he will want to spend the rest of his life _supporting_ you -"

Amelia gasped at the effrontery. Of course, her own fictional financial situation was beneath Cooper's and everyone knew that; that's what she'd wanted to pretend to make it all the more romantic when he chose her anyway. But to be blatantly told this by this, this meddling -

"- But, fortunately for your _prospects_ , Mr. Gibson is _here_ and he is much more your . . . _equal_ , shall we say? I know that in some circles all that talk of science is considered _distasteful_ , but, as a _modern_ woman, I think there is _no shame_ in marrying just one class above the trades. He will be able to _support_ you and you'll get to live in _London._ How _exciting_!"

"A - a -" All Amelia could do was squeak. She would have burst out laughing if she wasn't so insulted. Henrietta, a modern woman? Science as distasteful? The trades? It wasn't just her pride that was being crushed, it was also poor Mr. Gibson's.

"Yoohoo! _Mr. Gibson!_ We're over _here_!" Henrietta released Amelia's arm and waved toward the tall man. As if he wouldn't have noticed her anyway, since they were only a few feet away.

"Miss Totel. Miss Farrow," he said with a nod as he approached.

"Miss Farrow was _just_ telling me how _fascinating_ she found your _science_ -"

"Oh!" Mr. Gibson's eyes turned fully upon Amelia.

"- and that she was _positively dying_ to discuss it further with you _today_. Perhaps _she_ could ride in _your_ boat?"

Amelia's head snapped in Henrietta's direction. This was her plan along! To steal Cooper from her!

"Miss Farrow," Gibson bent from the waist, "it would be my honor."

What could she do now? She didn't want to offend Mr. Gibson. Despite his awkwardness, he really was so kind and especially helpful to her both yesterday evening and this morning. Most of all, she didn't want to give Henrietta any other reason to mock him.

Glancing just past his arm, her eyes alighted on Cooper, standing silently next to Susan, who had greeted Mr. Blandly with more excitement than he deserved. Cooper looked over at her, his expression questioning. Would he understand? Later, somehow, she's find a way to get him alone and explain it to him.

She looked up into Mr. Gibson's eager face and forced a thin smile. "I'd love to."

" _Wonderful!_ " Henrietta clapped her hands together, and then walked away, twirling her parasol even more. "Did you hear, _Mr. Shelton_? You cousin just _could not_ resist the _charms_ of Mr. Gibson. I guess that's means _you'll_ have to put up with _me_!" Then she laughed, and the sound raked down Amelia's spine.

Amelia looked back at Mr. Gibson and he smiled, but neither of them spoke as a group of menservants arrived to push the small rowboats into the water. Then, as they held the boat still, Mr. Gibson gave her his hand as she stepped into it, holding out her arm and then her parasol to steady her and she took a seat on the wooden bench.

Henrietta's jarring laugh pierced the air again, and Amelia looked to see poor Cooper, struggling to enter their boat. How could Henrietta not notice that he looked almost green with terror? Why didn't Cooper refuse? Claim to be ill or admit he did not enjoy boating or something? Just as she considered getting back out of the boat, taking the blame for cancelling this activity herself, the boat slide backwards and wobbled as Mr. Gibson pushed them free of the bank.

"What a lovely day, is it not?" he asked, as he reached to pick up the oars and started to slowly row them further out.

"Yes," Amelia murmured. It was a beautiful day, exactly the type of perfect English early summer weather she had envisioned for her Regency fantasy.

But she was watching Cooper's boat. Henrietta's voice carried clearly across the small pond, as she encouraged him to row them out further. He had removed his jacket at some point, and now he removed his waistcoat and folded it to place near to him. Amelia raised her eyebrows at this casualness, but Mr. Gibson stopped and removed his own jacket, calling out, "Wonderful idea, Mr. Shelton. Less confining for a better range of movement." Then, more quiet, Mr. Gibson said to her, "Your cousin is quite the genius, isn't he? I knew it."

Only this comment drew Amelia back in surprise. "Yes, he is." It stuck her as an odd thing to say; since when was removing one's extra clothing on a sunny day a genius-like thing to do?

Mr. Gibson, though, seemed oblivious, grinning broadly. "I was able to have the most enlightening conversation with him this morning. What a brilliant scientific mind!"

"Oh, yes." Amelia smiled back. It all made sense now. "It's his primary hobby."

She turned away again, though, to watch Cooper. He seemed to have found some unexpected well of confidence in this task, and he no longer looked frightened. The pure white of his shirt gleaned in the bright morning sun, and it was thin enough she swore she could see his muscles ripple beneath it as he rowed. As he appeared to be headed closer to Amelia's boat, Henrietta's face was hidden, but Amelia could make out a constant stream of that affected cadence she had. Why did Cooper have to look so handsome when they couldn't be alone? And especially so close to that vulture?

There was a coil of rope in the bottom of their boat, and Amelia's foot brushed it, giving her an idea. "Let's tie up the boats!" She looked toward Mr. Gibson. "Won't that increase our stability?"

"Well, not necessarily. It all depends on the ballasts and -"

"But then Cooper won't have to row anymore," she interrupted, so stuck was she on her own idea. _And he'll be closer to me_ , she didn't add aloud. "Cooper!" she called, stretching her hand out over the water. "Row closer and we'll tie our boats up together!"

He looked over at her, paused, and then nodded, picking up his oars again. The pond was small enough that Cooper's muscled arms made quick work of the space between them, and Amelia noticed that even Mr. Blandly and Susan's boat was headed their way now, too.

"Good, almost here!" Amelia stood, wobbling just a bit to find her balance, and stretched over the edge of her boat to reach for the pointed bow of Cooper's.

"I say, Miss Farrow -" Mr. Gibson started.

One more wobble and her beautiful lace fan slipped off her wrist into the murky pond below. Amelia planted her legs wider and held her balance, but a small cry escaped her lips at the loss of such a beautiful object. The next thing she knew there was a large splash and a scream from Henrietta, and she looked up just in time to see Cooper's legs disappear into the water.

"Cooper! Cooper!" she yelled, her heart racing and her mind frantic. "Hurry, Mr. Gibson, help me! He's not a strong swimmer!"

The wails were for naught, though, as Cooper broke the surface of the water, throwing his head back as he rose, his thin white shirt clinging to every curve and muscle of his chest and broad shoulders. Amelia gasped and she heard Henrietta do the same. He brushed his now wet locks away from his face as he lowered his smoldering eyes to look directly at Amelia.

"The lady lost her fan," he said, holding out the object for her.

Gulping, Amelia took the sodden and ruined fan without thought, staring at her husband, who was easily standing waist deep, as ripples of water ran off of his fine form.

Cooper shrugged at her unasked question, his voice still deep and seductive. "I calculated the water was only a meter deep once I realized how little pressure it was exhorting on the oars."

Amelia's eyes darted around. Mr. Blandly and Susan were close enough now that she could see they both looked shocked, their mouths hanging slightly open, although Susan recovered as Amelia watched. Henrietta looked stunned, too, but her face was also burning bright red with not well-concealed jealousy.

Looking back at her husband, still standing in front of her, holding up her fan, with supplication in her eyes, Amelia gulped. She was completely unsure how to react. Cooper looked handsome - very handsome, indeed - but the moment felt off to her somehow.

Breaking the silence, Mr. Gibson burst out laughing.

 _To be continued . . ._

* * *

 _ **Thank you in advance for your reviews!**_


	4. Chapter 4

**AMELIA AND THE ELECTRIC FROG**

 **CHAPTER FOUR**

* * *

After Cooper's unexpected leap into the lake, the boating party broke up. Feeling brave in addition to confused, Amelia tried to go his room but was rebuffed by a manservant repeatedly telling her that "Mr. Shelton is indisposed." It took a variety of questions and the sight of other servants carrying heavy buckets of steaming water before she was able to ascertain that he was bathing.

With a heavy sigh, Amelia returned to her room only to be informed that it had been decided that, given the excitement of the morning, cold luncheons would be provided for each member of the household to eat alone in their room. Amelia ate her wilted lettuce out of spite more than anything else. Who decided these things, anyway? Henrietta? That sounded like her. It was probably yet another tactic she was using to keep Amelia and Cooper apart. The timing could not have been worse, because after the events on the pond Amelia felt the need to talk to Cooper even more acutely.

What had he been thinking? It was so unlike Cooper to risk a jump from a boat into unclear water. Yes, he'd been clever to deduce that the pond was more shallow than it appeared, but that only muddled the issue more. Surely Cooper knew it was more dangerous to dive into shallow water and risk breaking one's neck by hitting the bottom before one could pull up. What was his motivation?

It's not that she didn't know, really. Amelia was certain he was attempting to recreate Mr. Darcy's famous dive into a lake from the BBC version of _Pride and Prejudice_ with which she was particularly enamored. There was no denying how good he looked with that wet, white shirt clinging to his muscles. But she was frustrated that he'd done it there, in front of Henrietta and everyone, an affront to the propriety of the time. Only Mr. Gibson hadn't looked horrified. Didn't Cooper understand that her wet husband was for her alone?

Sick of being alone in her room and tired of the forgettable novel she read in the morning, Amelia decided to seek out the manor's library in hopes of something better. She discovered the large and thankfully empty room, and took a deep, relaxing breath of the scent of old books.

After exploring the various shelves with no real plan in mind, Amelia curled up on a settee and lost herself in the adventures of _The History of Tom Jones, A Foundling_. It was a book she'd longed to read back on the prairie in Kansas but her parents refused to buy it for her, and then she'd forgotten about in the avalanche of modern fiction. Chuckling periodically, she now realized why her parents hadn't purchased it for her.

 _Crack!_

The silence was broken by the sharp, reverberating sound of a gunshot somewhere outside. Amelia jumped off the settee and ran to one of the large windows overlooking the front of the house but saw nothing. She opened the library door, first looking out one way and then swiveling her head to the other. A maid was scuttling along the hallway.

"Hey! You there!"

She hadn't meant to yell, but the maid noticeably jumped before turning around. "Yes, Miss?" her voice shook.

"Nothing's wrong, I'm not angry," Amelia tried to sooth, walking closer to her. "I just heard a gunshot, and it sounded close."

"Oh, that, Miss." The maid took a deep breath. Now that she was closer, Amelia realized how very young she was, and her uniform was dirty. She was probably a scullery maid on the very lowest rung of the household hierarchy, and that surely explained her discomfort with being addressed. "Sir organized a shooting party, Miss, for that fine American gentleman to demonstrate his skills with the muskets."

"What?" Amelia asked too loudly, and the maid jumped again. "I mean, thank you. Do you know what they're hunting?"

Cooper hunting? Cooper even knowing how to hold a musket? Amelia's heart raced at the thought of their entire cover being blown by Cooper's inability to do this task. Why had he lied last night at dinner? If he'd just told the truth, that he was a scientist, he could have performed any simple, period-appropriate experiment needed to prove his prowess in his true field.

"All the stable boys have gone down, Miss, to rouse up a flock of birds. Easy marks, so I've heard. They like to place coins on who can shoot the most." Then her eyes widened. "Oh, but don't tell the Lady."

"I won't. Do you know where they went? And are you certain Mr. Shelton - the American - went with them?"

"Oh, yes, I saw him leave with the rest when I was out in the kitchen garden. There's a series of blinds just over the back rise, Miss, on the edge of the trees."

"Thank you!" Amelia gathered up her skirts and took off down the stairs, running toward the back of the house until she found her way out a French door. The sound of another gunshot, much louder this time, made her pick up the pace. She ran over the terrace past beautifully manicured flowering bushes and hedges. As she circled around the fenced kitchen garden, she followed the barks and the bays of the hunting dogs, letting them lead her to the top of the hill behind the house. She paused to catch her breath, and she shielded her eyes from the sun to find her bearings. There, tucked in along the edges of the woods, were a series of small dark tents.

Walking swiftly down the hill, Amelia tried to stay to the edge. The dogs weren't visible, which she took as a good sign that the birds they were going to spook upwards were elsewhere. Approaching the closest blind, she crouched outside, listening the conversation inside before leaving with a shake of her head. It was Sir Totel, not Cooper. The voice from the next blind was very clearly the nasal tones of Mr. Blandly. Just as she was approaching the third tent, a manservant opened the flap and Amelia jumped back.

"Excuse me, Miss." He stood up straighter. "If you'll forgive me for saying so, you really shouldn't be here. It's too dangerous for a lady. It would be my pleasure to escort you back to the safety of the house."

But Amelia's eyes had adjusted to the dim in the tent behind him, and she clearly saw Cooper standing there, watching her as he held a musket limply in his hand.

"Oh, no, thank you. I'm just going to pop in here for a moment." She quickly shuttled past him.

"But, Miss -" Amelia shut the tent flap behind her, barely missing the servant's surprised face.

"Amelia -" Cooper started.

"Shhh!" She put up a hand as she stood peering out the gap until the servant finally shrugged and walked away. Then she turned around. "What do you think you're doing?" she whispered yelled. "You can't do this! You don't know the first thing about guns!"

"I know that!" Cooper hissed back. "And keep your voice down; tents aren't soundproof." He took a deep breath. "I'm not going to shoot anything. Why do you think I dismissed the servant sent to assist me? I'm just going to hide out in here, and then emerge when it's all over and lie about how much fun it was."

"Do you know they've wagered on how many birds you'll each kill?" Amelia whispered. "If you don't shoot any, you'll be a laughing stock."

"They're highly unlikely to kill any birds, either. Do you have any idea how poor the trajectory of the bullet from these things is? Without grooves in the barrel, the bullets just veer off in random directions. It's basic physics."

"They're called balls, not bullets." Amelia crossed her arms. "Cooper, your success at this is vital for your cover story. For _our_ cover story. I have no idea why you said you were in the arms business, but you did and now we have to live up to it. And -"

"I don't see that it makes any difference as we'll be leaving here -"

"Prime and load!" A loud voice interrupted him and they stared at each other for a second.

"Oh, for goodness sake, give me that thing!" Amelia grabbed the musket from his hand and inspected it to see if the frizzen was open.

"What do you think you're doing?" Cooper didn't bother to whisper anymore.

Ignoring him, Amelia looked around until she spotted the cartridges on a small stool in the corner. She grabbed one and put its paper in her mouth, gritting her teeth and tearing the end off. As she spat the loose bit of paper out, Cooper gasped. "Amelia! That's gunpowder! At least, I think it is."

"It is," she replied calmly as she pulled the hammer back to half-cock and carefully poured a small amount of powder into the primary pan. Closing the frizzen so that the power wouldn't come out, she continued, "That's the point."

The baying of the dogs picked up again, and Amelia held the musket against her leg so that she could pour the rest of the gunpowder into the muzzle, flipping it quickly and shoving the rest of the cartridge in behind it.

As she pulled out the ramrod, Cooper blurted, "You're not firing that gun!"

"Well, one of us has to," she said, using the rod to ram everything down into the barrel, first in one direction and then the other.

"How do you even know how to do that?"

"My father taught me. His gun was a rifle, but he kept my grandfather's old musket in the barn. He insisted we know how to use both; we used them to scare off coyotes that were threatening the livestock. And for hunting rabbits." She looked over at Cooper's slack face as she replaced the ramrod and lifted the musket up to her shoulder, aiming through the opening in the blind just as she heard the calls and rushes of a flock of birds in the trees.

"I'm quite the crack shot," she declared, pulling back the lock to full cock. All she heard was a confused squeak from Cooper's mouth as she closed one eye to sight along the barrel to the top of the tree line. Just as the birds rose over the scrabble and brush, she pulled the trigger. The recoil was more than she remembered and she stumbled slightly backwards, Cooper catching her.

They watched together, breathless, as a particularly large bird fell from the sky. "Well done, Mr. Shelton, I think that was your shot!" Mr. Blandly shouted from the next tent over.

Lowering the gun with a smile, Amelia turned around to look at Cooper's wide eyes. "That's how you prove what you know about guns."

Cooper licked his lips. "You've known how to use a deadly weapon all this time?"

"Yes. Shall I teach you?" She held the gun out to him but he didn't reach for it.

The tent flap opened and Amelia jumped back from Cooper's arm on her shoulder, the gun still in her hands.

"Oh! I, uh, Miss Farrow." Mr. Gibson gave a little bow. "I just came to congratulate Mr. Shelton on his aim, and to get his insights on whether or not he thinks barreling will ever . . ." His voice trailed as his eyes shifted back and forth from Cooper's face to the gun in Amelia's hands. "But I can see I've interrupted something. I need to return to my own tent, anyway; I'm sure Jack has my weapon all loaded up again, not that I seem to be able to do much with it."

With another of his tiny bows, Mr. Gibson pivoted and left, although his chuckles could be heard.

"He knows," Cooper mumbled.

Amelia shrugged. "I don't think he'll say anything. We can trust him."

"How do you know that? You've only just met him." Cooper lowered his voice, "You can't trust anyone with any of our secrets, remember?"

"I'm not talking about tim -"

"Ahhh!" Cooper interrupted her, holding up his hand.

"Um, okay, our _carriage_ , how's that? I'm just talking about this." She lifted the gun up to make her point. "And if he does say something, just say you were teaching me how to use it."

"Fine. But promise me you won't give away anything about our _carriage_ to him or anyone else. There's something odd about him."

"I promise." She shook her head. "You're overreacting, though. I think he's harmless, even if he is strange."

"Prime and load!" came another announcement, and Amelia asked, "Do you want me to teach you how to shoot or not?"

"Not especially," Cooper said.

"Well then . . ." Amelia reached for another cartridge.

* * *

Dinner included what was believed to be Cooper's prize-winning number of birds, and, despite it being a secret, Amelia couldn't help but feel pleased with her success. Everyone but Cooper ate them. Amelia noticed him at the other end of the table, pushing the meat around on his plate, and he kept looking nervously at Mr. Gibson and stumbling his way through congratulations about his skill with firearms.

But Mr. Gibson said nothing. Once or twice Amelia caught him smiling at them in a way that was perhaps conspiratorial, but then Mr. Gibson always seemed to be smiling, even when he was being self-deprecating. And it was he who saved Cooper from embarrassing himself by leading him into a conversation about the aerodynamics of spinning projectiles, which had the added benefit of further convincing everyone at the table that Cooper was a weapons engineer ahead of his time. Even though she had little interest in the topic at hand, Amelia could have listened to Cooper talk about it all evening because it was a return to the knowledgeable and sure man she had met and fallen in love with on the prairie.

Too soon, though, the ladies retired to the drawing room, and by the time the men joined them after brandy, Cooper was back to his emotionally distant and silent Mr. Darcy impression. Oh, how Amelia wished she'd never asked him for that! Even if he'd been shocked by her appearance and aptitude with the gun earlier, they'd at least shared some camaraderie alone in the tent.

To spoil her evening even more, Henrietta practically ran Cooper down in her eagerness to reach him and wouldn't leave his side, whining and cajoling about how she wanted to draw a silhouette of him. Finally, Cooper stood with a heavy sigh and announced the brandy had not agreed with him and he was retiring early.

Before Amelia could think of excuse to leave herself and try to join him, Susan asked her make up the foursome for whist.

* * *

Amelia awoke with start in the middle of the night, certain she had heard her bedroom door catch. "Who's there?" she sat up on her elbows and called into the darkness.

"It's me," came Cooper's soft reply, and Amelia almost made a whooping noise of joy. But it would not do to be too loud; if she could hear Mr. Gibson's snores clearly from the other side of the wall, it only followed that he could hear what was happening in her room, as well.

It was so dark that even after some adjustment, she could still hardly make out a dark gray form against the blackness of her room. But that grayness came close, and she felt the edge of the blankets being lifted up. "Scoot over; I'm freezing."

All too happy to oblige, Amelia was forced to shush Cooper when she heard Mr. Gibson's breathing alter and his bed creak from next door. She grimaced with every pop and sound from her own bed as Cooper stretched out next to her.

"Your bed is terrible," he said.

"Shhh! I know it. It's to remind me of my faults in being born poor. What are you doing here? Are you really sick? I was worried when you left the drawing room."

"I'm well. I didn't want to encourage Henrietta unnecessarily," Cooper whispered.

Amelia let out a long breath. "You would have been safe. Just after you left, she left, too. She said she had a headache and that she needed to rest to be at her best for the ball tomorrow."

Cooper rolled on his side and the bed moaned in response. "I miss you."

Smiling in the dark, Amelia replied, "I miss you, too. But you can't stay; what will the staff say when they catch you sleeping in here tomorrow morning?"

"Maybe I wasn't thinking of sleeping." He leaned close to kiss her cheek, and, when Amelia turned her face fast toward him in surprise, he captured her lips. Almost immediately, his passion grew and he raised up on his elbow to draw her closer, deepening his kiss and toying with her breast through her nightgown. "I never thought I'd say this, but your little Annie Oakley impression this afternoon was quite stimulating."

Her heart and body immediately responded, and she let out a moan of pleasure when his lips finally pulled away so that they both could breath. "Oh, Cooper -"

There was sharp snort from next door and Amelia froze until it was followed by another snore. But there had definitely been a longer pause.

"Cooper, we can't," she said, pushing his hand away from her chest.

"Why not?" he asked, pressing his body closer to her. "I thought you wanted heaving bosoms and crotch flaps."

"You're not wearing any pants, so there are no crotch flaps. Just your nightshirt. Did you even put on a dressing gown? What if a servant saw you?"

"Technicalities. We're less encumbered this way." He was using his most seductive voice, and his mouth angled close to her ear, causing Amelia to shiver at the very thought of his tongue upon her earlobe.

"No!"

Perhaps she said it more loudly than she intended, because the snoring stopped next door, and both she and Cooper froze as they heard the unmistakable sounds of someone getting out of bed on the other side of the wall. Amelia listened as the footsteps faded and they heard the sound of Mr. Gibson's door opening.

"See!" Amelia pointed out.

"But it's perfect," Cooper said. "He's gone out in to the hallway to look for a ghost or something, and now he can't hear us."

"But he'll come back!"

"I thought this is what you wanted," Cooper protested, still whispering. "A randy Mr. Darcy to steal into your bedchamber at night and ravish you."

"I wanted rich and handsome Mr. Shelton to fall in love with poor but witty little me against all societal odds."

"I already love you. It's why I'm wearing a giant white dress with no underpants at this exact moment."

Darn him! The thing was she did want a randy Mr. Darcy-cum-Cooper to steal into her bedchamber and ravish her. She very, very much wanted it. And it was true that they hadn't heard any more noises from Mr. Gibson's room; perhaps he'd lit a candle and wandered off to the library or the scullery for warm milk. Nothing on this trip was turning out as she hoped, so shouldn't she grasp at what few fantasies she could fulfill? She nodded in the dark, even though she doubted Cooper could see her, and was about to acquiesce as long as he promised to be quiet when a soft knock on her door startled her and she yelped.

"Miss Farrow?" came a soft rumble from the other side that could only be Mr. Gibson's voice. Amelia shoved Cooper even further away. "Are you quite well? I thought I heard . . . . that is, perhaps you sounded distressed."

Amelia's face flushed in the dark. Mr. Gibson had heard them making out! Then her face blanched. Had he heard what they said, too?

"I'm fine," she called out, trying to modulate her voice. "I just - just had a night terror. I'm prone to them."

"Do you require any assistance? I could -"

"No!" she didn't attempt to lower her voice this time.

"Very well. Please knock if you need me."

Amelia turned back toward Cooper, who had had the presence of mind to remain silent and still during the exchange. She whispered, "Do you see now? You can't be here; Mr. Gibson can hear us."

Cooper's answer came with a rush of cold air as he pulled the covers back and got out of bed. He didn't bother to push them back, and Amelia had to scramble to catch them and pull them close to preserve her warmth. "Perhaps you should just ask Mr. Gibson to come in here instead."

"Cooper!" Amelia lowered her voice as she heard the sounds of Mr. Gibson's bed groaning under his replaced weight next door. "What do you mean? He's just being friendly."

"And yet you think Henrietta is not!"

"Wait!" But all she saw was the gray shadow shutting the door to her bedroom, leaving her frustrated and alone. Again.

 _To be continued . . ._

* * *

 _ **Thank you in advance for your reviews!**_

 _ **(**_ **The History of Tom Jones, A Foundling** _ **by Henry Fielding, 1749)**_


	5. Chapter 5

**AMELIA AND THE ELECTRIC FROG**

 **CHAPTER FIVE**

* * *

Another night of not sleeping well, although this time Amelia could not entirely blame the lumpy mattress.

Washing her face before breakfast, she clucked over the dark circles under her eyes. They should not have worried her, but Cooper was going to declare his passionate love for his "cousin" at the ball that evening, and she would have preferred to look at least semi-attractive for the moment of her triumph. Perhaps she could sneak in a nap during the afternoon. After she cleared the air with Cooper.

Breakfast presented her with no such opportunity as everyone was assembled and such personal conversations were not had in public. Fortunately, Amelia had anticipated this and wrote a very small note to Cooper that she planned on placing in his palm at some point, containing the brief details of a private stroll in the garden. However, although Cooper greeted her as usual and stood when she entered the morning room, it was Mr. Gibson who was closest and assisted Amelia with her chair.

Cooper sat at the opposite corner of the table between Lady Totel and Henrietta. Amelia growled at her food. How did everyone get here before her? If she did take the time not written Cooper the note, if she had not taken such pains to fold it so small, if she did not have to wear a corset to force her breasts to defy gravity, if she hadn't studied her dark circles, if, if, if . . . If only everything single thing this weekend wasn't conspiring against her.

But, finally, she found an excuse to walk behind Cooper at the table and she tossed the little scrap of paper into his lap. It would have to do. So, as per her instructions, she was standing alone on the edge of the terrace as the clock struck ten when Cooper opened the door and walked toward her. She gave a sigh of relief and waved.

"You got my note."

"I did. It was risky of you to do that. I was so startled, I think it was noticed," he said.

"Maybe. But you're here now and we can talk. I feel like this weekend isn't turning out at like we planned and we never get any time alone, so I thought we could -"

" _Mr. Shelton_ , there you are!"

Amelia groaned. "What is she doing here?"

Cooper shrugged. "Maybe she saw the note."

Henrietta marched over to them and smiled. " _And_ Miss Farrow. What a _delight_." But she turned her body entirely toward Cooper. "Mr. Shelton, I was _wondering_ if you could help my _dearest_ Papa with rearranging some furniture in the _ballroom_."

"Don't you have servants for that?" Amelia asked.

"But there are several _heirloom pieces_ that have been in our family for _ages_ and one _simply can't_ trust the servants with such _priceless artifacts_. And, you, Mr. Shelton, you're so _young and healthy_ and surely in America you were accustomed to _physical_ labor."

"He owns his own business; he doesn't chop down his own trees," Amelia grumbled.

"Miss Farrow is correct, Miss Totel. I am not, in fact, accustomed to manual labor," Cooper explained.

"But _Papa_ is wondering where the best placement of the table for the _scientific demonstration_ would be, and I remembered you mentioned _science_ was your hobby."

Cooper shook his head. "Well, yes, but surely Mr. Gibson, who is giving the demonstration, would be the better person to ask."

"But we're _simply_ _unable_ to locate him at this _exact_ moment."

"He was just with us at breakfast," Amelia pointed out.

"He no longer is!" Henrietta said sharply, her speech losing all its usual italics. She must have realized her mistake, because she laid them on extra thick for her next statement. "Come, _Mr. Shelton_ , it's my father's _special_ request. Your _host_. I don't know how things are done in _America_ , but here in our _civilized_ country, when a _gentleman_ offers you a _free_ bed and many _fine_ meals in his house . . ."

"Very well. I will assist with the table placement," Cooper said with sigh.

"Oh, _wonderful_! I told him I just _knew_ you would!" Henrietta linked her arm through Cooper's and pulled him away.

"Cooper!" Amelia called.

He turned back over his shoulder and gave a small shrug.

Once they'd turned the corner of the terrace, Amelia bawled her hands into fists and stomped the stones beneath her, not caring in the least if it was unladylike and childish. That little -

"I say, Miss Farrow, have I caught you at a bad time?"

Amelia squeaked and jumped as Mr. Gibson stepped out of the set of French doors leading from the parlor, his hat tucked beneath his arm. "Mr. Gibson! I heard you were missing!"

"I was?"

"Henri - Miss Totel said she looked for you everywhere. Assistance was required with the placement of the table for your science experiment this evening," Amelia explained. Was it too late? If Mr. Gibson went to the ballroom would Cooper return?

"Ah, she did not look in the library, then," was his only reply. "Although perhaps that is not surprising given her nature."

"But the table. In the ballroom," Amelia prompted. "Your assistance."

Mr. Gibson smiled in that absent-minded way he had. "Oh, it doesn't matter to me. Dead frogs won't be leaping anywhere, even with the aid of a weak electrical current."

"Cooper - Mr. Shelton - had to go in your stead, but it's not his experiment," Amelia hinted.

"Based on my scientific conversations with Mr. Shelton, he will be most capable of determining a suitable location." Then Mr. Gibson looked past her toward the gardens. "Aren't the roses lovely here? Would you do me the pleasure of taking a turn in the gardens?" Then he cleared his throat slightly. "Perhaps it would be more suitable."

"Oh. Yes, I suppose." Amelia looked around for Cooper as she stepped onto the grass, even though she knew it was too soon for him to have reappeared. Mr. Gibson's meaning was not lost on her; the only proper way for her to spend time unchaperoned with a member of the opposite sex was for them to be in motion. So when Mr. Gibson offered his arm, it was the only polite thing to do to take it.

They walked for a bit in silence, Amelia sulking that this private walk should have been with Cooper, and Mr. Gibson whistling a cheerful tune. Why did he have to be so upbeat at this exact moment? At all moments? And so chivalrous with his constant bowing?

"This is fun," Mr. Gibson announced. "I haven't done this since my wife and I separated."

Amelia stopped suddenly. "You're married?"

"Not anymore." She must have gasped because he announced quickly, "I suppose you are shocked by the idea of divorce? Do you find me unfit for your society?"

"Um, well, no." Amelia started walking again. "It's just not done here, is it? And I can't imagine loving someone so much, following them anywhere, and then . . . not," she finished with a frown.

Mr. Gibson nodded. "It's easier when you find her in an, um, indelicate situation with French pastry chef. I thought she followed me to France for the excitement, but it was really for the baked goods. And the men who make them."

"When were you in France? During the revolution?" Amelia asked. It suddenly occurred to her that this was the first time she'd learned anything about the mysterious man walking beside her.

But he waved his hand. "The time does not matter. But it's why I returned to England now. Yes, it's cold and gloomy, but it's not easily accessible by a Frenchman through a tunnel."

"A tunnel?" Amelia looked sharply at him.

"Perhaps you haven't heard. There are some scientists proposing that we will soon be able to dig beneath the Earth and put locomotives in tunnels there. Some more refined members of our population find the new locomotive in Leeds too loud and the smoke too thick to imagine it could be a viable form of transportation. An underground tunnel could help mitigate some of those concerns."

"Yes, yes, the new locomotive in Leeds. I completely forgot about it." Amelia blushed and looked away. If Cooper were here, he would have known all the early train history and wouldn't have made such a faux pas. But Mr. Gibson didn't seem to notice. He probably assumed that she, as a female, knew nothing about modern-for-this-era inventions and science, and that stung her even more. She dropped his arm and walked a little faster.

"Miss Farrow?" Mr. Gibson's legs were so long it took him no time to catch up. "Have I offended you?"

Amelia stopped and sighed. "No, not at all. I was just thinking Cooper would enjoy a conversation about locomotives more than I would."

"Ah. Perhaps. He is a very intelligent man, you know. I'm a great admirer of his work."

"Muskets?" Amelia asked, a bit surprised.

"Oh, oh, no," he kicked a clod of dirt, "I just meant some ideas he mentioned after dinner the other night."

Mr. Gibson _was_ such an odd man, just as Cooper had mentioned. Yes, he was cheerful and kind - almost the only kind person in this house, really - but he was always saying the most peculiar things and then getting flustered when Amelia asked about them. Perhaps she was being rude by pointing out his strange verbal habits. At any rate, talking about Cooper was doing nothing to ease her wait for him to return.

"Tell me more about yourself, Mr. Gibson," she prompted, as she started walking again. "Are you a scientist by day, as well?"

"I'm tried my hand at various things over the years and yet I always seem to return to teaching mathematics by day. It pays the bills."

Allowing herself a little smile, Amelia said, "That I understand. Do you enjoy it?"

"Not as much as my hobby." He left mention of what his hobby was unsaid. Another peculiarity. Although, it must be science and his experiments with galvanism. Yes, that was it.

They walked a bit in silence before Mr. Gibson asked, "If I may say, you seem a little distracted this morning."

"Do I?" Amelia raised her eyebrows. Now there didn't seem to be any need to deny it. "I suppose so. It's just that I wanted an opportunity to speak to Cooper. Alone." Then she added, "We just have a lot to discuss. About the move and our new living situation here."

Feeling like she'd already said too much, Amelia stopped again in front of a rose bush in full bloom. "Aren't these beautiful?" she asked.

"Indeed. Allow me." Before Amelia could inquire into what she was allowing him to do, Mr. Gibson pulled a very small folding knife out of an interior breast pocket and cut a perfect rose off the bush, holding it out to her with a smile and then gallant bow from the waist.

Amelia took it and lifted it to her nose but said in puzzlement, "You carry a knife?"

"A scientist is never without his tools. Ah, look! There is your Mr. Shelton." Mr. Gibson pointed over her shoulder, and Amelia turned quickly to see Cooper standing on the edge of the terrace, holding his hat in his hand as he watched Amelia smell the rose that Mr. Gibson had given her.

Amelia raised her hand to wave and he frowned in return.

* * *

'If this _were_ a Jane Austen novel, I'd say events continue to conspire against us,' Amelia thought ruefully as she pecked at her lunch. Instead of a full spread in the dining room, where she might have managed to get Cooper alone, she was eating at a table in Henrietta's sitting room, trying to ignore her hostess' passive-aggressive insults couched as concern for Amelia's American habits and Susan's obvious fluff of her friend's ego. The decor was sumptuous, but the conversation was stifling.

And then when that was finally over, she was informed that all the ladies would retire to their bedrooms for the entire afternoon, to put on their tea dresses and nap in order to appear fresh and rested for the late night of dancing and socializing at the ball. Too exhausted to argue, Amelia took the respite from her corset and from being treated like a country bumpkin. But perhaps she needed the rest after all, because she awoke in her bed, the open copy of _Tom Jones_ next to her, and, based on the low hanging sun, she'd been asleep for a few hours.

She was just splashing her face with water when Jane knocked and entered, and suddenly it was time to prepare for the ball. Seeing her wavy reflection in the small mirror as Jane did her hair, Amelia felt better about the evening. The dress was lovely, the most beautiful thing she'd had made, the green silk with its shimmer of silver highlighting her eyes. Amelia had asked Jane not to tie the corset so tight, and her breasts were still full enough from motherhood to fill it admirably without threatening to cut off her supply of oxygen. Smiling at her reflection, Amelia let the past few days fall behind her. She would dance the night away, straight into Cooper's awaiting arms and heart, he would declare his undying passion, and they would be the king and queen of the ball together, everyone watching them with admiration for their love. Hopefully, Henrietta would be watching them with jealousy.

"Oh, I think it looks perfect there, don't you think, Miss?" Jane asked, drawing Amelia back from her fantasy.

Tucked into her Grecian hairstyle was Mr. Gibson's rose. Amelia had only a half-memory of bringing it up to her room and setting it on her vanity. The bloom had lost none of its vitality during the day. Quite the opposite; Amelia's dark hair set off its creamy color and the pale blush center to perfection. Amelia reached up and gently touched the soft petals at the edge. "It does."

Jane smiled at her in the mirror, and then Amelia stood to allow one last inspection of her costume. Before she knew it, she was wearing her gloves and holding her feathered fan and walking down the hallway to join Henrietta and Susan so they could be announced. Music and the cackling of conversation wafted up the stairs, indicating the party was already underway. Amelia hoped she hadn't missed Mr. Gibson's demonstration of galvanism.

Turning the corner as she walked toward Henrietta and Susan's rooms, Amelia halted when she saw them huddled in the hallway. They were oblivious to her as Susan leaned in close to Henrietta's chest.

"Your mother's pearls?" Susan almost squealed. "You are so fortunate."

"I _know,_ " Henrietta sighed happily. "I know she's _officially_ the hostess and I know that that _drippy_ Mr. Gibson is the guest of honor, but when I told her that I have _every expectation_ of an _understanding_ being reached this evening, she agreed _I_ should wear them."

Amelia furrowed her brow, even as she stepped back around the corner.

"An understanding?" Susan asked. "With Mr. Shelton?"

Smothering her cry with her fist, Amelia pulled all the way back and rested her head against the wall.

"Who else?" Henrietta's voice clearly carried. "Did I _tell_ you? He said that he is going to look at _Grantchestershireham Hall_ tomorrow. I'll be the _wealthiest_ woman in the county!"

"But what about his cousin?"

'Yes, what about me, indeed?' Amelia thought, biting the edge of her fist to keep from screaming out in some painful mix of emotions.

"Oh, I shouldn't think I'll need to _worry_ about her much longer. I'm hoping _Mr. Gibson_ will take her off our hands. _Sooner_ rather than later, I hope. Then they'll be _too poor_ to travel to our manor. Good _riddance_. People of our standing have no use for _book people_ ," Henrietta cackled. Actually cackled!

"But I thought Mr. Gibson seemed to enjoy Mr. Shelton's company. And Mr. Shelton seems to enjoy books. . . ." Susan's voice trailed off.

"Don't be _silly_."

"But I overhead them talking and, while I did not understand all the words, that only led me to presume it was about science or books. Mr. Gibson seemed quite taken with the things Mr. Shelton was saying, and vice versa. They seemed to have a lively conversation." Amelia, her ears staining, realized she should have been giving Susan more credit all along.

"Oh, Susan, you always get things _backwards_. I'm sure Mr. Shelton was just determining Mr. Gibson's _prospects and intentions_ toward Miss Farrow. After all, he doesn't want them to be _destitute_. Nor do I. After all, poor relatives can be ignored but _destitute_ ones are a _burden_ that never leave you."

Amelia gasped and realized her error too late, as she turned and fled back to her room, even as she heard Henrietta call, "Who's there?"

Slamming her door shut, Amelia paced back and forth. Obviously it wasn't true. She knew that. Cooper was already married - to her! - and he was from the future - where he lived with her! - and he had a child - her child! - and he wasn't going to come to an understanding at the ball tonight with anyone other than her. As for Mr. Gibson, well, he was . . . She blew out all the air in her lungs. He was just a friend. A nice, intelligent, attentive, perceptive friend, but just a friend.

"Grrr." Amelia growled at herself. Why was she even worrying about Cooper? Letting Henrietta get to her? Considering Mr. Gibson as a - no, this was ridiculous. Henrietta was completely misreading the situation, of course, and the plan was still for Cooper to publicly - in the most ardent and romantic terms possible - declare his love to Amelia at the ball. The idea of the look on Henrietta's face made Amelia smile, and she put her hand on her chest and snatched it away when an idea struck her.

Scrambling, she pulled up her skirt and petticoats until she could unhook the time machine key that she'd kept pinned to the top of her stockings all weekend. It was both too flashy for her current supposed station in life and there hadn't been time to change it from the Art Deco style from the last time she'd traveled. She dug through the small drawers of the vanity table to find the ribbon she'd seen there earlier. She threaded the key onto the narrow ribbon and then tied it around her neck.

Amelia studied the effect in the mirror. It looked huge on the bare skin of her décolletage and it did flash in a most noticeable way. Everyone would stare at it, that was certain. Cooper was sure to spot it, but only he would know its true meaning. That was the plan. It would remind him of their past and their present and their future, how they were knotted up in it, time holding them fast and always folding them together.

And it was far more spectacular than Henrietta's tiny row of seed pearls.

Chuckling softly, Amelia returned to the hallway and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw it empty; Henrietta and Susan must have gone down to the ballroom without her.

As she went down the stairs, the hum of conversions and the swell of music grew ever louder. How many people were already here? Was she late? Amelia could not help but wonder if Henrietta had sent Jane in to help her dress well after the ball began so that she could get Cooper alone. Panic rising along the back of her throat, Amelia sped up to enter the ballroom.

All of her life Amelia had dreamt of a moment like this, entering a fancy dress ball in a gorgeous gown, her hair arranged to its finest, glimmering jewels setting off her features. She always thought she'd stop and gaze around in wonder at the swirl of colors as the ladies danced, the sharpness of the men in their tails, the soft and glittering light of the candles. Then, from the farthest edge of the room, the crowd would part as her tall and dark-haired man would come straight toward her, his eyes soft with love, his steps strong and sure, and then he'd take hand, bowing deeply over it to kiss it with the barest brush of his lips, before he'd get down on one knee to the sounds of soft gasps around him, and ask her to spend the rest of his life with him.

In reality, she pushed and she shoved, ignoring all the finery around her, tossing out meaningless apologies behind as she searched for Cooper. Where could he be? Just as she was about to turn and press through the crowd in another direction she heard a man say, "That science chap should be starting up his experiment in the anteroom. Sounds ghastly and uncivilized to me, but -"

"Anteroom?" Amelia grabbed his arm. "What anteroom?"

"I say, Miss!" The other gentleman in the conversation interjected.

But the man she'd put the question to only pointed in reply and Amelia took off straight in that direction. She was aware that the "science chap" was Mr. Gibson, but she knew that Cooper would be observing if not getting in the way and volunteering corrections in procedure. Or biting his tongue to prevent himself from doing that for fear of upsetting the timeline. The crowd grew thicker as she progressed, and she realized the anteroom in question was really a large alcove off the ballroom proper.

At last, Amelia reached the edge of the crowd to see a heavy and dark table in the center of the room, illuminated by a tall candelabra on each corner. Upon it were all sorts of old-fashioned looking science equipment and Mr. Gibson was arranging three dead frogs, stretching their hind legs out upon a clean white sheet of fabric.

Just across from her was Henrietta and Susan, and she knew she was immediately spotted. They may no effort to hide their surprised faces, and she watched Henrietta's eyes drift from her face down to the time machine key resting against her bosom, where they widened and her face blanched. A flush of pride and satisfaction ran through Amelia, and she reached up to touch the object in question. Only then did she realize many others had noticed it, too, as she heard whispers and felt ever more curious eyes upon her. Eventually even Mr. Gibson looked up, and, never a subtle man, he did an obvious double take.

The next flush Amelia felt was of foolishness. She shouldn't have worn the key like that, so brazenly flaunting it. What if she lost it? Or worse, someone tried to steal it? Lab-created gemstones of the twenty-first century were a vast improvement over the paste jewelry of this time; surely anyone who saw it would think it was real. It was priceless and irreplaceable, but for an entirely different reason than everyone staring at her thought.

Just as she was about to turn around and go back to her room to remove it, she saw Cooper on the other side of the table. Just as in her fantasy, his eyes locked on her and he divided the throng of people to reach her, as everyone watched in his wake. But his eyes were not soft and loving.

He stepped so close to her that she had to look up to see his face properly.

"Amelia, what are you wearing? What are you thinking?" His voice was a low, angry rumble. Amelia realized he was trying not to be overheard, but, even if the bystanders couldn't make out the words, there was no mistaking the anger in his tone.

"I - I wanted to remind you of me . . . of us," she whispered back, tears pricking at her eyes. It sounded so naive to say it aloud.

"I'm not in any danger of forgetting you." He reached up and pulled the rose bloom out of her hair, crushing it in his hand. "But you, Miss Amelia, I think you have forgotten yourself and your place this world."

Once again, the crowd parted just as it always had in her dreams, but this time it was for her as she turned and ran out of the ball, picking up her dress even though it revealed her ankles, sobbing the entire way.

 _To be continued . . ._

* * *

 ** _Thank you in advance for your reviews!_**


	6. Chapter 6

**AMELIA AND THE ELECTRIC FROG**

 **CHAPTER SIX**

* * *

In her blind panic, Amelia raced back up the stairs and into the library without thought, slamming the heavy door behind her. The room was, blessedly, empty. Her sobs had subsided, only to be replaced with anger. She paced the length of the library, first clutching her head, then the time machine key, and at last her fists.

Everything was ruined! There could never be a romantic scene at the ball now. It was not that Amelia was so foolish as to believe that Cooper would leave her; that he was really interested in Henrietta or even Mr. Gibson's flattery and science, that he would stay in this time or ask her to do so. She knew that they'd still find a way back to their time machine, probably tomorrow morning, and return to their home and child.

But it would be a miserable leave-taking. There would only be recrimination in the looks from the Totels and the Blandlys when she left. Cooper would probably grab her arm and herd her brusquely out the door, shame and ire on his face. It wouldn't be an act for the ethics of the era, either. He was genuinely furious with her. That anger would travel through time with them.

Instead of regaining the optimism of their first meeting, the wonder of it all, Amelia had only reminded him of all the missteps she always managed to make, how she always acted before she thought. All she'd accomplished this weekend was confirming to Cooper that he'd made a mistake back on that Kansas prairie. She was a wife and mother now, not just a sheltered farm girl. Why couldn't she start acting like one?

But why did he have to act the way he did? Not just now, downstairs, but all weekend? So cold and standoffish and rude. It was all too easy for Henrietta to pull him away from Amelia. He was either distant or foolishly overcompensating, like that silly stunt in the lake or risking their cover for a night a half-hazard passion. He wasn't the calm and collected man she'd met and fallen in love with, the one that always had a plan and faith in the two of them. His failure would travel back through time with them, too, even if Amelia knew she shouldn't let it.

The room was not silent, as the melée from the ball floated up to reach to her ears. Then she heard what sounded like a collective gasp from a throng of people followed by a thunder of applause. The noise and the rumble stopped Amelia in her tracks. The library must be directly above the anteroom, and the cheering was for Mr. Gibson's successful experiment. He'd reanimated those dead frogs with electricity, just as promised, and Amelia had missed it. The idea of galvanism had started as an enticement to Cooper, but she had found herself looking forward to the demonstration. And now it was too late. Another ruined moment, another memory that never would be.

Looking around, Amelia noticed a soft fire in the grate and a pitcher of water with some glasses on a side table near a bottle or two of what looked like spirits. Although she was alone now, perhaps the room would be open for others later. Probably stuffy old men would come up to smoke and drink and try to solve the world's problems. Amelia poured some water into a glass and drank it, and then poured another which she used to wash her face. If she kept the door shut, would it be possible to hide in here without interruption for the rest of the night? There were two settees; she could even sleep here if needed.

Just as she had started the search for a book to distract her, the door opened suddenly and Amelia jumped.

"Oh! Miss Farrow, excuse me, I thought this room was empty." Mr. Gibson tried to back away, but Amelia put her hand out.

"No, it's fine. Please stay. I could use a friend."

Mr. Gibson looked around the room. "But it wouldn't be proper."

"I don't care," Amelia admitted. "It doesn't matter anymore, anyway. We're leaving tomorrow, and I, for one, can't wait to be rid of this place and its stuffy rules."

He paused and then nodded, shutting the door behind him. "You're leaving tomorrow, you say? I thought you were going to look at Grantchestershireham Hall."

Amelia shook her head. "I don't think we will now. I suspect we won't be welcome in this county much longer. Did you see the way we acted downstairs?"

He stepped over to the drinks and poured himself a glass. "Perhaps it was not so bad as you thought."

"No, it was. Cooper - Mr. Shelton - scolding me like a school child, and I was so embarrassed that I just ran out of there like one instead of standing up for myself. He knew how much I was looking forward to the ball!" Amelia took a deep breath and put her glass down on a table. "I'm suddenly very tired. Of this house, of this place, of this . . ." She walked closer to the fire to warm herself and muttered, "It's ironic that I'd give anything to go back in time and do it all over again."

"Ah, time travel, you say?" Mr. Gibson asked, and Amelia looked sharply at him. She hadn't thought her comment could be heard. Or that anyone here in Regency England had ever thought of such a concept.

"Time travel?" she asked, her brow deeply furrowing. And then she asked, to cover herself, "What is time travel?"

Instead of answering, Mr. Gibson stepped over to the bookshelf, murmuring "Where did I see it?" Then his smile broadened and he exclaimed, as he reached for a book, "Aha! Right here." He stepped closer and held the book out to her. "Be careful. That book is about eighty years old."

It was a slim volume, bound in leather that was damaged. It looked swollen, as though it had once been flooded with water. On the corner of the cover was a small rust-colored oval stain. Amelia opened it carefully, the spine cracking, and a bit dust flittered from the water-logged pages. So the water damage was not recent. Amelia read the frontispiece aloud, " _Memoirs of the Twentieth Century_ by Samuel Madden." Her heart pounded in her chest, and she looked up at Mr. Gibson. "What is this? Where did it come from?"

"Not the twentieth century, I assure you." He snorted as though that was most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard, but the statement only made Amelia's heart beat faster. Mr. Gibson's curious and oblique comments were hitting too close to the truth tonight, although of course he couldn't have known that. It was just a coincidence of his strange way of explaining things. "It's an Irish novel, written about 1733, I believe. It's a speculative history in which an angel brings letters from the future to an Englishman. Very few copies remain. I read it the other day."

Her relief was so palpable, Amelia laughed. "A novel about time travel from 1733! I never knew such a thing existed!"

"History is full of wonders." Mr. Gibson smiled. "It is good to hear you laugh. I thought you looked unhappy when I entered."

"Oh." Amelia took a deep breath. "I was. I am, actually. This whole experience has been less than I expected, and Cooper has been the worst."

Mr. Gibson shook his head. "Really? I have found him most intelligent, most affable. I would love any future opportunities to discuss physics, or shoot the breeze with him, as you Yanks say."

"Intelligent, no doubt, but affable? Not to me, not right now. Cooper doesn't respect me. He thinks he can ignore me and forget me and order me around. He forgets this is my story, too!"

"I disagree, Miss Farrow. I think that Mr. Shelton thinks very highly of you."

"Then you need your glasses prescription changed," Amelia shot back. Then she sighed. "I apologize. That was unkind. I am not angry with you."

"No offense taken." Mr. Gibson paused and seemed to be contemplating something. "If I may say something and risk being forward, you do not see how highly Mr. Shelton thinks of you because you do not see him."

"See him?"

"Perhaps you have grown accustomed to him. But his eyes, they watch you everywhere. He cannot stop looking at you."

Amelia huffed. "So he can tell me I'm breaking all the rules."

"My, you are a feisty American, aren't you?" Mr. Gibson chuckled. Then he put his hand up. "Now I need your forgiveness. But you are mistaken, Miss Farrow. Mr. Shelton's gaze when his eyes follow you - never mind." He shook his head and turned away, resting his arm on the mantel of the fireplace and starting into the grate.

"What? What about his eyes?" Amelia risked stepping closer.

Without looking up, Mr. Gibson replied. "Mr. Shelton is trying to protect you. He knows how impulsive and headstrong you are -"

"I am not!"

" - and he, while he values that very much in you, I think, he also knows how much trouble that can get you into here, in this place to which you are not accustomed. You are from a completely different world, Miss Farrow, and I am not so certain this world is ready for your world. It is not yet the time."

Gasping, her heart fluttering again, Amelia whispered, "What world? What time? What do you mean?"

Mr. Gibson pulled on his waistcoat as he stood straighter, although he did not turn back to her. "America. You are from America and this island is not ready for Americans yet. It is too soon after losing it as their colonies, you see."

His voice had changed with the last pronouncement and Amelia studied him as they stood in silence. She could not explain it, but she had the very clear impression that was not all what he meant when he started to speak.

"Mr. Shelton is from America, too," she said flatly.

"Yes." Mr. Gibson nodded and turned. "Yes, of course, you are correct. Forgive me. My thoughts were not fully formed. Perhaps it was the excitement of my experiment downstairs."

Poor Mr. Gibson! He was forever bumbling and saying the wrong thing and then apologizing for it. Perhaps because they were on the same socio-economic scale here, she and he were almost always being thrown together. There were times this weekend that Amelia would have been left completely alone if it had not been for Mr. Gibson's kindness. She thought about what Henrietta said, that Mr. Gibson was hoping for an understanding with her.

It was not his fault that they were both forgotten outsiders, whereas, in Amelia's case, it was entirely her own fault for insisting she travel here as a penniless woman. It was not his fault that the things he said were disquieting only because she was harboring a secret knowledge of the future; in reality, they were perfectly innocent, if oddly phrased.

Amelia stepped close to him, still holding the book he'd handed her. "Mr. Gibson, I fear there's been a misunderstanding. I know that circumstances have thrown us together these past few days, and, while I have been glad for your company, I should tell you -"

Waving his hand, he softly interrupted her, "Miss Farrow, no apology is necessary. I had quickly surmised not just that Mr. Shelton's eyes follow you but that someone else has the key to your heart." It seemed that his eyes flicked to the time machine key resting on chest, and Amelia reached up to cover it. "Perhaps I am been overly atoning for almost running you over with my horse that first night. I came here not knowing what to expect, but I was under the impression that at some point in your journey you would need my assistance. I must have . . . misunderstood."

Again. Amelia frowned. There was only one way to find out.

"Mr. Gibson. I want to ask you something about . . . this book." Amelia lifted the earliest time travel novel in the English language higher and took a deep breath. "I know it sounds impossible, but do you think time travel is real -"

THUD!

She jumped back with a startled noise as the thumping on the library door interrupted her. Her breath coming in a jagged bursts, Amelia touched her fingertips to her lips, those lips that had almost - maybe already had - betrayed her. She looked up at Mr. Gibson, her heart tapping in her chest.

THUD!

Time dilated between the pounding on the library door. Mr. Gibson stared back at her as though he, too, had been caught.

THUD!

What had she been thinking? To even utter those words, even if she planned to couch them in hypothetical terms, was tantamount to treason. Treason to Cooper and every promise she'd ever given him, to every time she'd stepped into their time machine, holding his hand. Which was worse, infidelity of the body or infidelity of the mind?

"AMELIA!"

 _To be continued . . ._

* * *

 ** _Thank you in advance for all your reviews! I wish I could say I'm sorry for torturing you, but . . ._**


	7. Chapter 7

**AMELIA AND THE ELECTRIC FROG**

 **CHAPTER SEVEN**

* * *

Knock!, knock!, knock!, and the door rattled from the force. "Amelia!"

"That's Cooper," she said, needlessly, licking her lips. Mr. Gibson nodded and he reached to take the book, now hanging limp and forgotten from her hand.

Crossing the expanse of the library over the third knock-knock-knock- "Amelia!", she squeezed her eyes shut against the urgency in Cooper's voice. She couldn't tell if it was anger or something else altogether. She took a deep breath. He didn't know what she'd just considered doing. She had been discussing the possibilities of plot with Mr. Gibson, that was all. Harmless, floundering Mr. Gibson. No, of course she'd been wrong. It was just coincidence and her own overheated imagination.

There was no reason to feel guilty. Nothing untoward had happened, nothing that couldn't be explained. All that Cooper knew - or surmised, she wasn't sure - was that she was alone in a room with Mr. Gibson. Amelia wasn't going to let him berate her. She'd done nothing wrong. Yes, flaunting the time machine key was foolish, but no harm had come from that, either. If he was angry about her being alone with Mr. Gibson, she would give him a piece of her mind. Because nothing else had happened, nothing else had been said. Not yet.

Amelia reached out and yanked the door open.

"Cooper, this isn't a good time." Amelia pulled herself up to her full height and challenged him with her eyes.

"I don't care -"

"Do not lecture me on the propriety of my interactions with a member of the opposite sex when you are -"

"Amelia, listen!" Cooper stopped her. "Downstairs, just a few minutes ago, Mr. Gibson gave an historical demonstration on how to reanimate the legs of a dead frog. There was a science experiment, the birth of modern electrical physics right in front of me, but I couldn't get it out of my head in a way I didn't expect. Eventually, I realized the experiment was about your effect on me, and like, that dead frog, I can't move without you. So, what I'm trying to say is: you're the galvanism to my heart. The metaphorical kind, not the twitching-legs-of-dead-frogs kind."

"What?" Amelia furrowed her brow at him.

"If I may," Mr. Gibson startled her from behind, "what I believe he is saying, in a charming and delightful way, is that you stimulate him to be a better man, to perhaps do things that he would not otherwise be motivated to do."

"Oh."

"I didn't realize he was here, too," Cooper said. But instead of reprimanding her for being alone without a chaperone or for forgetting her place, he started to turn away, his shoulders low. "Never mind, you obviously want to your privacy -"

"No!" Amelia reached out to touch his arm and stop him. "It's okay. Go on."

Cooper turned back, and she saw him glance over her shoulder, no doubt looking at Mr. Gibson. "Amelia, I agreed to come . . . here, to this . . . place because you wanted to, because I love you and I wanted you to relax and have your frivolity. But I didn't come to recapture some sort of magic between us. Why do you think we need to recapture it? Do you feel we've really lost it?"

"Coop -"

"Let me finish." He put his hand out and ran it along her face. "We've never discussed it, but do you remember when we first met and we were repairing my -" he glanced over her shoulder again "- carriage and you touched my hand? I felt something in that moment, and it's never left me. I feel it every time I touch you, and I remember how it feels every time I look at you. I don't know what it is if, if it's a product of . . . time or electricity, but it was and is the most galvanizing force I've ever known. What I'm trying to say is that if you want to be my wife again, I really want to be your husband. No more games. I just want to be married to you, no matter where we are."

"I really want that, too."

"Good. Because I love you and our life together."

"I love our life together, too."

"Kiss her!" Mr. Gibson cheered.

Cooper looked up him. "You knew?"

Amelia turned around to look at him, too, her mouth open in surprise. She had been so moved by Cooper's speech she had forgotten Mr. Gibson's presence.

The tall scientist nodded. "Yes. To continue your metaphor, the current between you two has been crackling for days. You were either already married or desperately needed to be. Perhaps now would be the time for me to leave." He bowed in Amelia's direction, and Cooper stepped into the room to allow him to pass.

Mr. Gibson pulled the library door closed behind him, leaving Amelia alone with Cooper. For some reason, she suddenly felt exposed and nervous. "Cooper, I'm sorry. I know I being foolish, flaunting this key around my neck."

"It is I who should apologize for my behavior downstairs. It was appalling. I've been trying to be Mr. Darcy for you, mysterious and aloof -"

"I think maybe Mr. Darcy wasn't the catch I thought he was," Amelia interrupted. "All weekend I wanted my Cooper back. My scientist, the one I could talk to about anything. I shouldn't have wasted my time with Mr. Gibson's friendship."

Cooper shook his head. "It wasn't Mr. Gibson; he's a very interesting man. I need to apologize about Henrietta this morning. I should have refused to leave the terrace with her. I've tried my best to ignore her and hint to her that I wasn't interested, but, well," he shrugged, "excuse my language, but she's a nincompoop."

Her eyebrows raising at such unusually coarse language, Amelia smiled softly, "My! But I never really thought anything would happen between the two of you."

"Likewise." He paused. "It wasn't either of their faults. It was the circumstances of the time that got away from both of us. This charade of my being wealthy and you being poor . . . it only works in novels, it seems. History, real history, would have kept us apart."

Amelia took a step forward and took his hand. "Don't let it. Never again, Cooper. History, real history, brought us together. No more games. Just you and me, husband and wife, wherever and whenever we may go."

"Yes." Cooper squeezed her hand back. "I love that you're a force greater than nature, greater than electricity. I love that you often leap before you look. If you weren't that way, if you knew how hard it could be and what a fool I can be, you would have never leapt into my time machine with me."

"Well, now I know exactly who you are and I'd still follow you anywhere." Amelia grinned. "Now, I believe that Mr. Gibson said something about you kissing me, you brilliant fool."

The words were barely out of her mouth when Cooper's lips were there, instead. He wrapped both arms around her, pulling Amelia in close and tight. As his tongue found its way into her mouth, she did her part by pulling on his broad shoulders. A weekend's worth of pent-up frustration was in the kiss, the way they held each other so close, trying to meld into one being even as they stood. Cooper's height made it hard to keep her balance, and Amelia had to break away sooner than she wanted.

"Should we -"

"Please tell me you're not wearing any underpants. I was promised no underpants."

Surprised, Amelia let out a laugh, and Cooper captured her lips again. His kiss was just as passionate as the first, but this time his hand fell to her side, lifting her skirt and petticoat up inch by inch. She put her arms around his neck, and they walked backward together, a tangle of lips and legs. Just as a shirt ladder resting against the bookshelf hit the small of her back and stopped her, she pulled away with a gasp as Cooper's long fingers brushed her core.

"No underpants," she moaned as Cooper lips trailed down the length of her arched neck.

In a swift demonstration of those shoulders she so admired, he picked her up and plopped her back down on the top of the step ladder. Then he pulled off his jacket and threw it away.

"Oh! Here? Won't we be heard?"

"I don't care. Ugh, all these buttons!" Cooper whined as he set about trying to remove his waistcoat.

Giggling again, Amelia leaned forward to help him with the buttons of his pants. "Crotch flaps aren't has much fun as you thought, then?"

"They're impossible! I'll never understand why Gideon Sundback didn't win the Nobel Prize for the zipper."

"Because there isn't a Nobel for engineering, which you always state is exactly as it should be."

"Not at this moment - finally!" The last button undone, his trousers dropped and his waistcoat swung free, and Cooper pulled his shirt out of the way. "Now, where were we?"

Another kiss, softer this time, as his hand snaked up from her knee to her waiting body, and Amelia spread her legs wide around his narrow hips to give him entrance. Just when she'd sucked in her breath in anticipation as his thumb brushed against the skin of her inner thigh, he stopped. "What's this? There's something tied up in your stockings."

Copper knelt down on one knee between her open legs, and Amelia watched as he gently untied the slender silver band she'd kept secured there every moment of this adventure. "My wedding ring. I couldn't bear to be without it."

The stocking sagged against her leg as Cooper removed the ring and held up to her. Then he reached for her hand and slid the band back on her finger where it belonged. Nothing was said as Amelia watched him and his blue eyes never left hers. Then Cooper reached into the tiny pocket of his waistcoat and handed her his own wedding ring. Taking it with a smile, Amelia put it on his outstretched finger.

"'Love is not love which alters when it alternation finds,'" she whispered.

"O no! it is an ever-fixed mark that looks on time and is never shaken," Cooper whispered back.

Amelia shook her head slightly. "It's tempests, not time."

"But in our story, they are often the same."

"Only if we let them."

"Which we won't again."

"Never." Amelia reached forward and ran her hand though his dark hair, leaving it mussed. "Now, where were we?" she repeated to him.

Cooper raised a single eyebrow, his most devilish and becoming look. "I seem to be right here." His eyebrow was still at attention when he leaned forward and kissed Amelia in the most wondrous of places.

The long awaited pleasure was a shock, and Amelia bucked backwards on the ladder, gasping and reaching out to hold on to anything. Failing, her hand settled, squeezing the spines of several books. It seemed the ladder wasn't quite level and it rocked slightly in time with Cooper's mouth.

Just when she thought she couldn't take it any more, Cooper stood, eyeing the time machine key against her chest. "I had hoped for some heaving bosoms and it seems I have found a way to achieve them."

Grinning at him, Amelia said, "I think, as scientist, you should find all the ways to make them heave."

"Should I?" First he ran the back of his fingers along the top edge of her dress, letting his thumb dip to brush her beneath the layers of fabric. "Ah, there's one." Then those same long fingers slipped beneath the fabric and quickly found her nipple, which, being so near to the top of her dress, was not difficult. Rolling it gently, Cooper leaned forward to murmured into a kiss on her earlobe, "There's another."

Fashion being what it was, it took almost nothing for him cup her breast and pull it free from the confines of her dress, and he trailed his kisses down the side of her neck toward her exposed nipple before settling his lips there.

"Oh, Cooper . . ." Amelia moaned, throwing her head back against the books. Then, louder, sharper, "Oh, Cooper!" as she felt him rubbing himself against her.

"So many ways . . ." He said, capturing her lips as he found his way into her with a swift movement.

It felt like a Regency novel Amelia bought without realizing it was dirty: Cooper's broad shoulders, the way his body filled her so completely, the way her legs wrapped around him to pull him close, the play of his fingers on her breast and his lips on her neck and her face. She arched back, her head lolling against the books on the shelves, one set of fingers curling around the spines of some volumes, and the other pulled Cooper's shoulders closer. Just like every romance novel cliché ever, she let him take her there, in the library, against the bookshelves. And she wanted _taken_ , there was no other word for it, urging him him on, faster and harder, noticing but not caring how loud the ladder was now, the no-mistaking-what-it-was rhythm that it pounded out on the wooden floor. She threw her head back with abandon as the she felt the sizzle and the tug from down low building, building, building . . .

"Is - this - enough - I'm -" Cooper panted.

"Oh, God, yes," Amelia said, pulling her knees up as high as she could, and Cooper's next thrust hit her sharply just in time and she let go with him, the force of pleasure contracting every muscle in her body so that even those poor books she'd been handling so roughly fell from the shelf with a rumble and clatter that didn't even begin to drown out the sounds of their release and joy.

For a moment there was only silent panting as even the ladder had stilled, and then Amelia started laughing, laughing so hard that Cooper pulled back to look at her in surprise. "What's so funny?"

"I read this book once," she managed to say around her quieting chortles, "a trashy Regency romance, and it wasn't nearly as good as that."

"I don't think that stuck-up prude Mr. Darcy would ever dream of doing such a thing." Amelia broke out in another fit of laughter.

Knock, knock, "Excuse me!"

Amelia yelped at the sound of Mr. Gibson's voice on the other side of the door, and she reached up to cover her mouth. Cooper pulled away from her, hastily trying to reassemble his clothing.

"Just a moment!" he yelled.

Setting up straight, Amelia tugged her dress back down and tried to shove her breast back into the top of it.

"I'm so sorry to intrude," Mr. Gibson said from the other side, "it's just that, um, your , er, reconciliation has been noticed, and I do not know what excuse I should give -"

Together now except for her hair, Amelia leaned forward to help Coper finish buttoning his pants. Just as the last button was in place, Cooper strode to the door and opened it quickly, pulling Mr. Gibson in before slamming it shut.

"We were heard?" he demanded.

"I believe so. I just now heard approaching voices on the stairs."

Cooper ran his hand through hair, and looked over at Amelia. "What do we do?"

"Walk out with our heads held high?" she suggested. "We've done nothing wrong. We're married."

Mr. Gibson shook his head. "I think that Mr. Shelton is correct, Miss Amelia. It would be best for you to leave."

"But we have no way to leave, to get back to our -" Cooper stopped his words short.

"Take my horse. I was having him saddled for my own departure before I returned here to bid you adieu and heard you -"

"But then how will you leave?" Amelia interrupted him. Just how much had Mr. Gibson overheard?

He shrugged. "I will find another way tomorrow." He stepped closer to them. "I do not think you are returning all the way to London, are you?"

Cooper and Amelia's eyes met and had a silent conversation. "No," Cooper finally admitted. "We have a - a carriage waiting in the next village."

"Take my horse and leave it at the public house there. I will retrieve it later."

A faint murmur outside the door had grown to a rumble of voices, and Amelia said to Cooper, "We do not appear to have a choice."

"But we have to walk through that! If Mr. Gibson is correct, and we were heard . . ." Then Cooper straightened his shoulders. "No, _you're_ correct. We walk out with our heads held high."

Amelia grinned at him. "I knew you'd see it my way."

"Your powers of persuasion are most impressive. As always." Cooper held out his hand, and Amelia reached for it and they walked to the door together.

They were not met with an angry mob. Instead, there was silence and shock on the faces of the few who met them, their hosts and the Blandlys among them. Cooper gripped Amelia's hand tighter and walked up to Sir Totel. He bowed slightly. "Thank you for you most gracious hospitality, but my wife and I will leave you without further disruption of your festivities."

"Your - your wife?" Henrietta cried from where she and Susan were staring with slightly open mouths.

Pulling herself up as tall as she could, Amelia looked her squarely in the eye. "Yes. We apologize for the subterfuge but Cooper - Mr. Shelton - and I are bound so tightly that neither distance nor time nor even your attempts to capture him could break us apart."

"Indeed," Cooper echoed. "If you'll excuse us, we'll be on our way." They turned and walked toward the stairs together. Amelia could feel every head swivel to watch their march.

"But - but - she doesn't have a dime in her dowry!" Henrietta called after them, all her italics lost along with her hopes of being the wealthiest woman in the county.

Cooper and Amelia stopped, their hands still linked, and turned to look at each other although did they not turn all the way around.

"Someday, Miss Totel," Cooper said as he looked at Amelia, "may you be lucky enough to learn that there are riches other than money, and _Mrs. Shelton_ here is overflowing with them."

"Also," Amelia added, her lips curling up at the edges as she watched Cooper, "you're a bitch."

"Amelia!" Cooper gasped just as loud as everyone behind them, but then he grinned wider and added, "What's more, you're a nincompoop!"

With a great laugh, Amelia pulled his hand down the stairs, leading him on a run out of the mansion, dodging people as they went. As they ran, the small orchestra downstairs struck up again, breaking the silence. Once out of the house, they found a horse waiting there, just as Mr. Gibson had promised. The circle drive was alight with multiple lanterns near the house and torches lining the drive up. A groomsman was just lifting a saddle to put over the blankets and, with minimal fuss, Amelia was able to convince the groomsman to leave the saddle off and to convince Cooper to help her swing up and over the horse's back. She pulled herself forward and had just instructed Cooper to hang on tight when Mr. Gibson came running out of the house after them.

"Mr. Gibson!" the groomsman cried. "I tried to tell them it was your horse and that -"

"No matter," Mr. Gibson said, waving his hand, "I gave them leave to borrow him." Then he lifted something up to them. "You forgot your book. The one we were discussing in the library."

Amelia looked down at him with confusion. "It isn't my book."

"Oh, but I think it is."

But it was Cooper who reached out and snapped up the slender volume, pulling it to his chest. "We don't have time to debate this. Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Gibson. I don't how you knew we'd need you, but I am grateful. I'm sorry we didn't get to discuss science more."

"There is always time," Mr. Gibson replied, his grin as mysterious as ever. "Until we meet again."

Before they could reply, Mr. Gibson slapped the horse's hindquarters and it started running down the long lane. Cooper wrapped his arm tight around Amelia's waist as he held a lantern high behind her with the other. Its dim light encircled them, as they huddled together and escaped at a gallop into the English night.

* * *

Once home, safe and warm, and back with her son and her friends, it took Amelia a few days to recall the little book Mr. Gibson insisted that she take. It was still setting in the time machine, having fallen under the seat in their rush to return. Cooper was out with his friends, so she opened its waterlogged pages again, carefully turning past the title page so as to not damage it further, and what she saw took her breath away.

 _Yes, Amelia, time travel is real. But then you already know that. - DG_

 **THE END**

* * *

 ** _Thank you so much for reading my little story and thank you for your kind reviews._**

 ** _Yes, I know, you have questions. Ahhh, but what is life - and time travel - without a little mystery? Some day, maybe, I'll answer them. ;-)_**


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